


Local man

by heatgeneratingtechniques



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Betrayal, Developing Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-06-25 21:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatgeneratingtechniques/pseuds/heatgeneratingtechniques
Summary: “Would you like to know the truth, my friend?”Link considers himself to be a loyal servant of the High Command, until he falls for someone he never should have met.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by three prompts I wrote a year ago: [country](http://lunar-winterlude.tumblr.com/post/165708109014/prompt-country), [regret](http://lunar-winterlude.tumblr.com/post/165710492044/regret), [revolution/baby](http://lunar-winterlude.tumblr.com/post/165711260644/revolution)

    “And on this Tuesday, the sixteenth day of October, let us never forget. The High Command provides for us. The High Command protects for us. The High Command loves us. Always. Now let's make our country proud.”

    Every morning, Link recited the words along with the newscaster as he ate his cereal. There was always something good and reassuring about those last words. He owed a lot to the High Command. Thanks to his stellar grades and reputation for patriotism, he had been chosen to receive a free university education in the capital city of Hammerstead. Now, ten years later, he lived comfortably in the city and worked in the main office of the recorder of deeds.

    Life held few surprises. Link woke early, worked late, and slept deeply. On weekends, he liked to go mountain biking with a few of his co-workers. His only complaint was a lingering shoulder pain from a childhood fall.

    Today, however, everything felt _off_. Link slept through his alarm, which meant that he showered in a panicked rush, which meant that breakfast was ready late, which meant that he missed the newscaster’s daily encouragement to make his country proud.

    Days like these were rare but immensely frustrating. He left his apartment and was halfway to the elevator before he realized that he’d forgotten his briefcase. Five minutes later, he was scrambling back into his apartment after remembering that he’d left his lunch and his tie on the counter. Then he ran back to make sure he’d locked his door.

    By the time he was finally in the elevator, frantically adjusting his tie as he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with other work-bound folks, he already felt drained. He had a nagging feeling that he’d forgotten something, but there wasn’t time to check.

    It wasn’t until he was on the subway, hemmed in by the usual morning commute crowd, that someone nudged his shoulder.

    “I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” the stranger began, her eyes wide with worry at the annoyed look on his face. She had seen the blue badge attached to his blazer that indicated Link’s government employee status, and was appropriately respectful.

    “What is it?” he said, trying and failing to arrange his expression into one of casual indifference.

    “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said again, “but I-I think you have shampoo in your hair.”

 

* * *

 

    The world unraveled a bit more as Link finally reached his desk. He worked on the fifth floor with at least a hundred other people, each in their own tiny cubicle. From there, they took phone calls and processed records. At one end of the room hung a massive blue and white banner that read “LET’S MAKE OUR COUNTRY PROUD.” The other walls bore an assortment of posters urging patriotism and healthy living. Link could recite all of them by heart.

    Usually, the low level of chatter around him was comforting for Link, but today it was just annoying. He kicked his briefcase under his desk and sat down.

    “Mr. Neal.”

    He didn’t bother to look up from his computer as he logged in. “Morning, Mr. Carson.”

    His boss watched him for a moment. He had a habit of stretching silences to the point of discomfort.

    “Why is your hair wet?” he asked.

    “Running a bit late.” Link swiveled in his chair to face his boss. He had stopped in the bathroom to rinse out the shampoo in the sink, to the confusion of the man who came in while he was trying to dry his hair with paper towels. “But I’m here now,” he added with a strained smile.

    Mr. Carson didn’t seem amused. He always came to work early, his suits were always perfectly pressed, his dark beard always trimmed. He had a temper, but Link had never been on the receiving end of it.

    “Don’t be late again,” Mr. Carson said. “And fix your tie.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    Mr. Carson sauntered off to antagonize someone else.

    _But I haven’t been late in ten years._ Link clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head until the urge to retort had passed.

 

* * *

 

    The sun was already setting when Link’s shift ended. He took the elevator down to the ground floor along with a crowd of co-workers, all wearing black suits and blue badges.

    Usually, he chatted with the folks around him, enjoying the opportunity to make them laugh, but today he remained silent. The whole day had felt wrong, despite all his efforts to improve. He had accidentally hung up on someone. Mr. Carson had given him two more reprimands for improperly processed records. And, at lunch, he’d realized that he’d forgotten to add peanut butter to his sandwich.

    Link let the rush of the crowd of employees carry him outside, down the sidewalk to the subway entrance. His thoughts turned toward home and the pint of ice cream waiting in the freezer.

    By the time he emerged from the subway at the stop down the street from his apartment building, it was dark. Only a few people were around; this part of the city was mostly residential. Link walked slowly, his briefcase slung over one shoulder. All he could think of now was sleep.

    There was a sudden movement in the alley to his right. Link flinched in spite of himself. There had been reports of increased crime in other parts of the city, but rarely anything in his neighborhood.

    “Someone there?” he called.

    A shiver ran through him as a tall figure emerged from the alley into the streetlights. The person was clad in all black, from boots to ski mask. Link’s heart rate immediately doubled. He backed away a few steps, almost stumbling over the curb. But the figure only regarded him in silence.

    “Don’t come any closer,” Link stammered. “I have... I have a taser.”

    He had no such thing, but he fumbled with his suit coat anyway.

    Then the figure spoke, voice muffled behind the mask.

    “Would you like to know the truth, my friend?” It was a male voice, rough around the edges.

    Link stopped. “What?”

    “The truth about the High Command.”

    “I don’t know what you mean—”

    “The High Command is lying to you.”

    “The High Command provides for us,” Link gasped. “The High Command...”

    The man was approaching him now. He walked with a pronounced limp, favoring his right side. Link caught a glimpse of the eyes glittering behind the mask and felt a thrill of terror. Frantically, he tried to calculate how far he was from his building’s entrance, if he could make it there in time—

    “St..stop!” he stammered, a tremor in his voice.

    “Wait.” The man’s gloved hand reached out and clasped Link’s wrist. There was something unexpectedly gentle about the touch, something that made Link forget to move.

    “No need to yell.” From the messenger bag slung across his shoulders, he produced a folded sheet of lined paper. “I only wanted to give you this.”

    Link made no move to take the paper. The man pressed it into his palm.

    “Tell me something.” The man’s glittering gaze held him in place. “Are you happy with your life, my friend?”

    “I...”

    “Think about it,” the man whispered. The touch of his hand was almost a caress.

    In a burst of anger, Link wrenched his arm away. “I’m calling the police,” he hissed.

    The man only nodded.

    “Have a good evening,” he said, and vanished into the shadows of the alley.

 

* * *

 

    A single line of text was scrawled on the paper.

 

_thursday 11pm @ crowbar. come alone_

 

    As a loyal citizen, Link knew that he should go straight to the police. Opposing the High Command was punishable by imprisonment and even death in some cases. He’d heard news of isolated rebel uprisings in other provinces of the country, but never anything in the capital.

    _Are you happy with your life, my friend?_

    With a muttered curse, Link tore up the paper and flushed it down the toilet.

    That night, he lay awake for hours, his wrist still tingling from the man’s touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to [mythical-michelle](http://mythical-michelle.tumblr.com/) for beta-reading.
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://lunar-winterlude.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 2

When Link got to his cubicle the next morning, a pair of government agents from the Bureau of Safety were already there. Two women, both dressed in tailored black suits, lounging casually at his desk as if they owned it. Their dark hair was lacquered flat against their heads. Each of them had an earpiece attached to the right ear. Neither of them wore makeup or visible badges, but the icy gazes they fixed upon Link identified them immediately. Agents had a certain way of looking at a person that always unsettled Link. He’d heard that they were extensively trained in identifying a person’s tells, parsing body language to figure out the truth without needing to threaten or use a lie detector.

“Good morning, Mr. Neal,” one of them said. “Could we have a word?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

He followed them through the rows of cubicles to the conference room, his mind fluttering with fear. He’d heard of people being hauled away for treason. He’d even reported a traitor or two himself. He'd never been in this situation before, though, and it made him uneasy

_ Bur I’ve done nothing wrong. _

He tried not to think about the masked man as they entered the conference room.

“Please sit down, Mr. Neal.” The taller woman pulled out a chair.

He mumbled a weak thank you and obeyed. The women glided around the table and sat facing him, their hands folded.

Both of them wore blue latex gloves.

“My name is Yana,” said the taller woman. She inclined her head towards the other agent. “And this is Evette.”

“A pleasure to be meeting agents of the Bureau of Safety,” Link managed.

He had hoped the compliment would make them smile, but they didn’t seem to hear it.

“We have heard many good things about you, Mr. Neal,” Yana said. She sat ramrod straight in her chair, eyes never leaving his face. “You have a stellar record of unwavering support for the High Command.”

Despite himself, Link smiled. He was proud of the accomplishments and rewards he’d gathered over the past ten years. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Evette spoke up. “We have chosen to speak with you today because of your loyalty to the High Command and its noble causes.” She seemed less focused than Yana, her hands fidgeting as she spoke.

“We are asking you to remember your loyalty and to answer our questions truthfully,” said Yana.

“Yes, of course.” Link clasped his hands beneath the table, trying to keep from trembling.

Evette withdrew her phone from her suit jacket, turning it towards Link. “We are looking for this man. He is a rebel who refuses to accept the High Command’s benevolent protection, and we wish to bring him in for rehabilitation. We have reason to believe that he is here in Hammerstead.”

The picture was a blurry shot of a dark figure, face half turned away from the camera. The figure wore a ski mask.

Evette swiped to the next picture. A sketch of a bearded, scowling man. His face was marked with several scars.

“This is the drawing we have compiled from the reports of witnesses. We are still unsure of height, weight, or ethnicity, as we have received many conflicting reports. ”

Link swallowed hard.

“Please answer us truthfully, Mr. Neal,” Yana said. “Have you seen this man?”

Link remembered the light caress on his wrist, the glittering eyes. He nodded.

“When?” Evette almost sounded excited.

“Last night. I-I was on my way home from work a-and he came out of an alley and started talking to me. He asked if I wanted to know the truth.” A sudden panicked thought crossed Link’s mind. He looked up at Yana and Evette, eyes wide. “But I-I didn’t listen to him! I told him to get away from me a-and he left.”

Yana’s gaze never left his. With a chill, he realized that she did not blink. “We have one more question for you, Mr. Neal, and once again, we ask that you answer us truthfully.” She lowered her voice. “Did he give you anything?”

“A-a scrap of paper.”

Her voice went quieter still. “What did it say?”

“I... um...” Link looked away, his mind whirling. “I threw it away! Flushed it down the toilet when I got home. But it... it said something ridiculous like, “The High Command doesn’t love you. That’s the truth.”

“Is there anything else?” Evette asked.

“No.” Link shook his head.

He waited for an accusation, some sign that they knew he was lying. Instead, Yana smiled.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Neal. We appreciate your honesty. You may return to work.”

“Th-thank you.” Link scrambled to his feet, nodding to them both. “Have a good day.”

“Oh, Mr. Neal.”

Evette’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Yes, ma’am?”

“We are offering a reward of half a million credits for any information leading to this man's location,” she said. “ We wish to rehabilitate him into a productive member of society without delay. If you remember anything else or acquire any new information, please contact the Bureau of Safety at your earliest convenience.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Evette smiled. It was a horrible grimace, a little too wide to be sincere.

When Link stepped out of the conference room, he could almost feel the furtive glances from his co-workers. He forced himself to walk back to his desk, one foot robotically in front of the other, his face frozen in a mask of pleasant boredom. It was only after he was safe in his cubicle that he broke.

He sank into his chair and lowered his head into trembling hands, his chest heaving. He had lied to a government agent. He had  _ lied.  _ Link had seen neighbors hauled away to work in the mines for less. If the Bureau of Safety discovered the truth...

Link’s throat tightened. He would not think of that now. He talked himself through the next moments: removing his glasses, wiping sweat from his forehead, taking measured breaths to keep from spiraling into a full-blown panic attack.

As he turned his attention towards the day’s work, he told himself that he was doing this for the sake of gathering more information. He wanted to be recognized by the High Command for his service. This reward could help propel him out of the cubicle farm and into a more prestigious position. But he would need to learn more to ensure that he received the biggest reward for finding this man.

He was not curious about the masked man. Not curious at all.

 

* * *

 

The Crowbar had once been a cheap bar with multiple pool tables , broken windows, and frequent fights. At some point last year, it had been remodeled, scuffed surfaces replaced with glass and marble and chrome. And tonight, it was too crowded for Link’s liking. He preferred to be separate from the throng, in a private lounge or balcony, where he could observe the excitement without getting swept into it. Instead, he was at the bar, trying to keep from being jostled away as he waited for his drink.

He was in a terrible mood.

He’d shown up at 11pm, just as the note had said. There was no sign of an especially tall man, no one approaching him to give a furtive message. It had only been fifteen minutes, but he already had a headache from the music pounding around him. He wanted one drink, then he was going home to sleep and forget this whole mess.

The bartender returned with his drink on the rocks, winked at him, and bustled off.

Link stared after him, but the man didn’t look back. With a sigh, he took a sip—

—and almost spit it out.

It was  _ water. _

But before he could yell at the bartender, he saw that there was something at the bottom of the glass. He lifted it again, swirling the ice , and pretended to take another sip.

It was a scrap of a napkin with a single word on it.

 

_ bath _

 

Link forgot his anger in an instant. He drank the rest of the water, sweeping the napkin onto the floor with a finger.

Then, as nonchalantly as he could manage, he stepped away from the bar and pushed his way through the crowds to the bathroom.

But before he reached it, someone grabbed him by the wrist. Link whipped around to find a short, stocky woman looking grimly up at him, red lips pressed into a hard line. She tugged his arm again, and he bent his ear towards her.

“Follow me,” she yelled over the sound of the blaring music.

And because Link was more curious now than he had ever been in his life, he did. They crossed the dance floor, weaving between groups of dancers, and passed through a door in the wall. The music behind them became a muffled pounding.

It was pitch black.

“Shit,” the woman muttered. “They never fixed the lights.”

A moment later, Link was squinting at the light of her phone.

“Hey, not in the eyes!”

“Be quiet, unless you want a taser shot right in your mouth,” she snapped. Her voice was young, with a bitter edge to it. “So you’re the one he wants to talk to, huh? You really don’t look like much. I told him we could handle this by our own damn selves.”

“Where is he?” Link demanded, shielding his eyes with a hand. Anger gave him sudden courage. “And  _ who _ is he? Who the hell are you? Why did he want to meet me—”

“I said be quiet. We’re gonna see him now.” The woman turned the light away from his face and down the hallway, leaving Link blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “You first.”

He considered dashing back out into the club and calling for help, but he dismissed the thought almost immediately. He wanted — no, he  _ needed _ to see where this led.

Besides, she had a taser. Link had never been one for fighting or putting himself in physical danger; he left that to the folks who had been trained in such things.

“What’s your name, by the way? And don’t give me that ‘Mr. Smith’ crap. I like calling people by their first names.”

“Charles,” he said.

She laughed, an unexpectedly light sound. “ _ Charles _ ? That’s uh... not what I expected. I’m Ellie.”

They went through a door that deposited them into a back alley. A dark cargo van waited nearby.

“Time to go for a ride,” Ellie said.

Link glanced back at her. She was dressed in black, from shirt to combat boots, her taser still aimed at him. The alley was lit only by the light from the street at one end and smelled of garbage from the dumpster.

It occurred to him that this may have been a mistake.

“Are you... are you  _ kidnapping _ me?” he asked.

She grinned sweetly. “Of course not. It’s just safer to talk while we drive. Harder to pin down that way.” She guided him to the van’s back door, where she knocked four times, waited briefly, and knocked twice.

There came the sound of bolts and locks being undone. The door swung open. Link stumbled back with a gasp.

A figure wearing a ski mask crouched inside the van, seeming to fill the entire space.

“Got him,” Ellie said. She gestured for Link to climb inside. “Have fun. I’ll be driving.”

Link didn’t know what to do. He was thinking of that caress again, thinking of the way the man had spoken so softly to him.

“Good evening, my friend,” the man said. “I’m glad you decided to show up.” He offered Link his hand. “We have a lot to discuss.”

Once inside, the man shut the van doors behind them. The vehicle lurched and Link almost lost his balance as Ellie revved the engine and drove off.

The cramped interior of the van was full of electrical equipment fastened to the floor and the walls. A few laptops rested in the midst of the cables and wires. The man sat cross-legged before one of these and gestured for Link to join him.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Link whispered. His hands were balled into fists to keep from shaking but his fear was becoming difficult to ignore. He was interacting with rebels, speaking to them instead of being at home in bed like a good employee of the recorder of deeds. He was asking questions instead of calling the Bureau of Safety. Everything felt so wrong that it made him a bit lightheaded.

“Just wanted to have a little talk with Charles Lincoln Neal, loyal ten-year employee of the High Command. And maybe even strike a deal with you.” The man pulled off his ski mask and sighed with relief. “Oh thank God, that thing gets so itchy.”

He looked similar to the sketch Evette had shown him. Thinner maybe, with blond hair pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head. An old red scar crossed the right side of his face, beginning at his temple and disappearing into his beard. The look in his eyes was as sharp as it had been the last time Link had seen him. But when he smiled, Link felt the strangest sensation. A blush, an actual  _ blush, _ was spreading across his face.

The man said, “Call me Rhett.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for commenting! ^_^ Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://lunar-winterlude.tumblr.com/).


	3. Chapter 3

Link didn’t know what to do with his hands.

He settled for folding them in his lap, knuckles going white with the effort of staying still. The more he tried to focus on his current situation, the more he wanted to bolt. This was a huge mistake. He couldn’t shake the  _ wrong _ sense of this situation, as if he was going to work in his pajamas or washing his hair in the sink.

The van was festooned with cables and wires, lit with LEDs along the walls and floor. Rhett was chattering away as he typed.

“I’m glad you saw my note,” he was saying. “Couldn’t risk meeting you in the bathroom, though. Only one exit there.”

“Why did you want to meet me?” Link asked.

“Wanted to ask you something.” Rhett looked up and Link felt his face get warm again. “Are you happy with your life?”

“What kind of question is that?”

Rhett shrugged. “A serious one.”

“Well, I’m very happy. The High Command has provided for me well.”

“But you don’t trust them.”

Even considering the sentence made Link feel slightly queasy. “I do!”

“Then why are you here?”

The van rattled over a bump. Link’s knee jostled against Rhett’s thigh, but Rhett didn’t move.

“You’ve had doubts,” he said.

“No!” A lump of panic rose in Link’s throat. “Never.”

“If that was true, then you wouldn’t be here. You would have reported us right away.” Rhett lowered his voice. “We’ve approached others before you. Know what they do? They call the police or the Bureau of Safety. They pretend our meeting never happened. None of them have ever actually shown up to talk. But you?” Rhett smiled, and his expression was akin to the sun breaking through the clouds. “You did.”

Link’s face went hot again, his sense of panic receding somewhat. Rhett was  _ smiling _ at him. He really liked that.

“W-what do you want from me, then?” he asked.

“Information. I will ask you questions and you will give me honest answers. You will be duly compensated in return, of course.”

“H-how much?”

“Up to a thousand credits for information, depending on how accurate it is.”

Link considered this. “ _ Rebels _ have money?”

Rhett lifted his shoulders in a brief shrug. “We have lots of things you don’t know about. The High Command likes to paint us as raving cavemen, but I don’t think they even know the whole truth.”

A troubling thought occurred to Link.

“Why are you resisting the High Command?” he asked. “That’s... it’s dangerous. And pointless. You’d be so much happier and safer if you stopped all this and turned yourself in for rehabilitation.”

At that word, Rhett’s gaze snapped to his face, eyebrows coming together in a thunderous frown. He shifted away from Link.

“Do you know what rehabilitation is?” he asked.

“Benevolent training,” Link said quickly. “The Bureau of Safety takes in rebels and other troublemakers and helps them learn how much the High Command cares for them.” He had seen the promotional videos of rehabilitation in progress. Smiling folks dressed in pale blue jumpsuits walking along verdant pathways, playing tennis, eating meals in sunlit cafeterias, and taking classes, all perfectly organized.

Rhett tapped the fingers of one gloved hand on his knee, his gaze on Link now grim.

“Rehabilitation is torture, my friend.”

Link recoiled. “The High Command would  _ never _ —”

“Never what? Never beat someone for resisting arrest? Never work someone to death for saying something negative about their superiors?” Rhett brushed his hand against Link’s forearm and Link felt his nerves singing at the contact. “I’ve seen a man’s arm broken right here. Snapped in half, bone sticking through the skin, all because he told someone that he didn’t like his supervisor.”

Link’s throat tightened again. He tried to swallow, tried to think of something to say, but there was nothing he could focus on besides  _ fear _ .

After a moment, Rhett shook his head, turning back to his laptop. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he said quietly. Will you help us?”

Link remembered the Bureau agents, remembered the chill they sent up his spine. “I-I don’t know.”

“We can give you time to think about it. Two days. Here.” Rhett pulled something from his pocket and held it out to Link. An old flip phone. “Call me with this,” he said. “If we don’t hear from you by Saturday night, we will not contact you again.”

“I have to attend a party on Saturday night,” Link murmured.

He caught Rhett glancing sidelong at him, but otherwise got no response.

They drove in silence for a short while longer. By the time the van slowed to a stop, Link was thinking frantically of something else to say. He looked up, startled, at the touch of cool night air wafting in as Rhett opened the back door.

They were back in the alley behind the Crowbar.

Before Link could leave the van, Rhett caught his arm.

“I understand that this is a strange situation,” he said gently. “It must be a bit shocking to you. But thank you for listening, my friend”

“It’s Link.” He felt himself blushing once more. “Call me Link.”

 

* * *

 

For a party with compulsory attendance, the atmosphere that Saturday night felt light and cheery. It was a birthday celebration for Dr. Isidro, the chief recorder of deeds. Small groups of people were scattered throughout the large ballroom, chatting and sampling the hors d’oeuvres. The floor was a marbled black-and-white pattern that reflected the light from the sparkling chandelier in the center of the room. A string quartet on a raised platform in the corner was playing a delicate sounding piece. Servers clad in all black drifted through the room with drinks on platters. The room opened onto a lovely garden with stone pathways and manicured hedges, and a panoramic view of the lights of downtown Hammerstead.

Link made his way through the room, a drink in his hand and a fixed smile on his face. He made small talk with his colleagues and flattered his supervisors and tried to ignore the pain of anxiety gnawing away at his stomach.

There were a few Bureau of Safety agents in attendance, wearing their black suits and blue latex gloves. They were scattered around the room, standing with their backs against the walls and their hands clasped in front of them. The party-goers gave them a wide berth.

It had been two days since Link had spoken to Rhett. He hadn’t looked at the flip phone since then. It was in his bathroom, duct-taped beneath the sink. He hadn’t even bothered to turn it on.

He kept thinking of what Yana and Evette had told him. It would be so simple to contact them and tell them what he knew. But every time he thought of it, curiosity held him back. He wanted to know more about Rhett and Ellie, about their life outside of government control. They didn’t spend their time working themselves to the bone, or attending parties, or nodding and smiling while grim Mr. Carson blustered on about some new procedures he wanted to implement in the office.

They were free, in a way.

“Did you hear anything I said, Mr. Neal?” Mr. Carson was scowling at him.

“Yes, of course.” Link smiled weakly. “Excuse me, please. I need a moment.”

He stumbled away to the bathroom.

There was a man washing his hands at the sink. Shorter than Link, blond and baby-faced. He caught Link’s eye and quickly ducked his head, but Link had seen a wild look of panic in the man’s eyes.

“Evening,” Link said. He picked the urinal furthest from the sink and unzipped.

“Evening,” the man mumbled. He dashed from the room before Link could say anything else.

Link rested one hand against the linoleum as he relieved himself, trying to clear his mind. He’d always borne compulsory events with a grim cheerfulness before, but he wasn’t in the mood tonight. He wanted to go home.

He wanted to talk to Rhett.

Putting words to that thought was both frightening and thrilling. Link wasn’t sure what to make of it yet. He tucked the thought carefully away at the back of his mind; he’d worry about it later.

For now, he had to make it through the rest of the party. So he flushed, zipped up, and went to the sink to wash his hands.

“What am I doing,” he whispered to his reflection. The circles under his eyes were darker than ever. His hair and clothes were well done, but it was hard to hide the anxiety in his face. He practiced a few wide smiles, but they reminded him of Yana and Evette so he settled for adopting an expression of pleasant boredom instead.

Link emerged from the bathroom in time to hear the music fade away to scattered applause. Everyone was gathering by the platform at the end of the room. Link joined them in time to see Dr. Isidro raise her hand for silence.

“I thank all of you for coming to my little birthday celebration,” she began with a brilliant smile. “And I thank all of you for being loyal subjects of the High Command.”

Someone nearby was growing restless, swaying from foot to foot. Link tried to ignore him, but the motion caught his eye. It was the man from the bathroom, his face ashen.

Compared to the smiles plastered on the still faces around him, the man’s expression seemed grossly out of place. An icy touch of fear crept up Link’s neck. There was something  _ wrong  _ here...

Dr. Isidro was still talking.

The man whipped a small handgun from his waistband.

Link’s voice caught in his throat.

The man bolted for the podium, yelling, “Death to the High Com—”

An agent smoothly stepped in his path and withdrew a stun baton from her coat. The man fired twice at her, but his shots missed wide. Behind him, the crowd burst into frightened cries, many of them dropping to the ground or running for the exits in fear.

Link was rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

The sound of crackling electricity filled the room as the agent switched on her stun baton. It connected with the man’s legs and he screamed.

He crumpled to the ground, sobbing with pain.

The agent struck him with the baton a second time, right in his chest. He twisted and writhed like a wounded animal, shrieking horribly.

He didn’t stop until the agent withdrew her baton.

The room was silent. Dr. Isidro had not moved from the platform.

The man tried to move, but two agents pounced him and hauled him to his feet.

“Let me see him,” Dr. Isidro commanded. The agents hauled him to his feet.

“You’re evil!” the man shouted. “You’re a horrible person and you’re going to die!” His head jerked around as he spoke, his voice piercing through Link. “You’re all going to fucking die.”

“You’re confused,” Dr. Isidro said calmly. “A few weeks of rehabilitation and you will be good as new.” She addressed the agents. “Take him away.”

“No!” The man fought his captors with renewed energy, but the agents were stronger than him. They half-carried him through the scattered crowd, which quickly parted to let them through.

As he was dragged past, the man caught Link’s eye. He reached out and grabbed Link’s hand in sweaty fingers.

“Please!” he yelled. “You have to help me! Please, they’re gonna—”

Link recoiled, almost stumbling with haste.

The man turned to the couple standing beside Link. “Please?” he whispered.

Neither of them would look at him.

Within moments, they were gone. Link’s heart was pounding so hard that he thought he would be sick.

Dr. Isidro raised her voice to address the room. “There is nothing to fear here,” she said. “All is not lost. He will be rehabilitated.”

A smattering of applause broke out across the room as the crowd tentatively came back together. Almost everyone was wide-eyed with shock and slightly disheveled, but their attention was fixed on Dr. Isidro.

“All thoughts of rebellion will soon be cleansed from his mind and he will be returned to us a new man,” she declared. “We must be thankful that we have had the opportunity to witness this amazing moment first-hand. We have seen the efficiency of our esteemed Bureau of Safety, and we are overjoyed to be under their protection.” Dr. Isidro raised her arms. “Glory to the High Command!”

The applause quickly built to a thunderous roar.

Link felt goosebumps break out on both of his arms.

 

* * *

 

 

Link’s apartment was a small one-bedroom place with a balcony, much nicer than the basement studio where he’d lived during his first few years in Hammerstead. He kept it meticulously clean. The books on the shelves were alphabetized, the fridge magnets arranged symmetrically. There was a record player beside a small couch, which sat across from the TV. Nothing decorated the walls but a circular mirror by the door and a poster he’d gotten from work that read, “A LAZY CITIZEN IS A USELESS CITIZEN.” The hardwood floors were bare, except for a gray rug spread out before the couch.

Tonight, Link’s blazer and tie lay in a heap by the door, his shoes and socks scattered nearby. His head was buzzing with a myriad of uncomfortable thoughts. He paced his apartment barefoot, his shirt untucked, his hair a dark mess.

He was holding Rhett’s flip phone between two fingers, as if it burned.

_ Just do it. Do it, you coward. DO IT. _

But he kept seeing the terror in the man’s eyes as the agents had taken him away.

Link finally shuffled out to the balcony, taking deep breaths of the night air. He could see the lights of the buildings downtown from here. Usually, the sight helped calm him down when anxiety flared up, but tonight it wasn’t helping. The dull roar of traffic below echoed the roaring in his head, his vision blurring more and more until the city was nothing but streaks of colored lights in the darkness. He finally looked away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

He’d come this far. Where would one more step take him?

When Link finally retreated to his room, his hands were shaking badly. He locked the door and plunged into the hopeful safety of the closet. Gritting his teeth, he dialed the sole number saved in the contacts.

The phone rang twice.

“Yes?” Rhett’s voice. Link’s heart clenched painfully for a moment, and he realized that he’d been craving the sound of that voice all day.

“It’s me,” he whispered.

“I was hoping you’d call, Mr. Charles or Link or whatever your name is.”

“I want...” Link cleared his throat, tried to steady his voice. “I want to help. What do you need me to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! ^_^ Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://lunar-winterlude.tumblr.com/).


	4. Chapter 4

 

**LOCAL MAN THRIVING IN REHABILITATION**

 

A month after Dr. Isidro’s party, the headline appeared on the front page of the newspaper. Link began averting his eyes when he passed the sidewalk newsstands on his way to work, burying his chin in his scarf under the pretense of bracing himself against the November chill, but it was impossible to avoid. The article’s text and accompanying photos had been sent to every member of his department for required reading. Link had halfheartedly skimmed the article, but the photos caught his eye.

The rebel who had attempted to shoot Dr. Isidro was featured, but his expression was wholly unfamiliar, like an ill-fitting mask. Eyes in shadow, smile a tad too wide. He sat on a bench by a sunlit fountain, wearing the classic pale blue jumpsuit, his hands folded loosely in front of him.

The man was featured in multiple TV interviews, as well. His name was Tam Wilson. He had grown up in foster care and had unfortunately fallen in with rebels at a young age. But after his misguided attack on the esteemed Dr. Isidro, he had seen the error of his ways and had voluntarily turned himself in for rehabilitation.

The lies twisted Link’s gut into nauseating knots.

He knew what he’d seen. Tam’s wide, terrified eyes still haunted his dreams. As Link frowned at yet another interview, he noted how similar Tam’s mannerisms were to the Bureau of Safety agents who had questioned him a month ago. The same grimacing smiles and smooth walk that belied his stiff posture. In this interview, Tam and the show host were sitting beside one another on a couch. Tam’s hands were folded in his lap, and his knuckles went white when he spoke.

Link stopped watching TV after that. He replaced his morning routine of breakfast and morning news with breakfast on the balcony, looking out over the city as he braced himself for the day ahead. He began catching himself muttering the High Command’s mantra as he ate.

__ _ The High Command provides for us. The High Command protects for us. The High Command loves us. Always. _

More often than not, the words came out sounding like worried questions instead of the confident declaration in which he’d always found comfort.

Link found himself donning a mask of sorts at work. He parroted the phrases expected of him, completed his work with his usual speed and attention to detail, and got home by six PM every night.

One night, he was surprised by the lump that rose in his throat. Even more surprising was the sudden sting of tears.

He wanted to please the High Command, of  _ course  _ he did. He wanted to be recognized for the exemplary citizen he was. But something about this felt like it didn’t quite fit, as if he was trying to force a puzzle piece into the wrong place.

If the High Command was so benevolent, why had they lied about Tam?

He couldn’t think of an answer.

Talking to Rhett was the only time he truly felt like himself.

The calls came without warning at least once a week, always late at night as he was dozing off. The vibrating of the flip phone beneath his pillow would send him scrambling into the closet, the only place in his apartment where he felt that he might not be overheard. Rhett usually asked a few questions about the names of government officials or the specific number of employees working in different offices. Link would share everything he knew. Then within a few days, he'd get a payment deposited into his account. It was almost a nice arrangement, if not for the fear of being caught, which was ever-present at the back of his mind like static from an old radio.

Sometimes, the conversation would drift, and they’d end up talking about sports or the upcoming holidays or whether or not the Hammerstead rail line would finally get extended to the suburbs. Link sat with his knees tucked up to his chest, head resting against the wall, his hair falling into his eyes. He stopped being Mr. Neal when they talked, discarding the mask of pleasantries and tight-lipped praises. When he talked to Rhett, he felt his muscles unclench for the first time all day.

“Is something wrong?” Rhett asked one night. “You’re being pretty quiet.”

“Work,” Link murmured, his eyes closed. “It’s been... busy lately.”

“Everyone’s been on high alert since the Tam Wilson thing, I bet.”

Link dug his middle finger into the pad of his thumb. “Yes.” A thought occurred to him. “Did you know him?”

Rhett was quiet for a moment too long. He sighed. “Met him once. He was pretty hotheaded. Thought we could overthrow the High Command with a surprise revolt. Didn’t care if he got killed. Now, he’s landed himself in something much worse.”

“Rehabilitation.”

“Yes.”

“Is it really that bad?” Link asked.

“Heh.”

Link waited for Rhett to elaborate, but he said nothing, which somehow seemed worse.  


“I know that what they say about Tam on the news isn’t completely true,” Link said, after the silence stretched too long for comfort. “He didn’t turn himself in for rehabilitation.”

“Nobody ever does.”

“They dragged him away screaming. He told us we were all going to die. I was there.”

Rhett exhaled sharply.

Link opened his eyes, barely able to trace the outline of his clothes hanging in the dark above him. “Why did they lie?”

“They’re afraid of losing any power.” Rhett’s voice was quiet. “They twist the truth to keep people in check.”

“But  _ why _ ?” Link said. His fingernails were digging into his palm now.

“Why not?”

Link opened his mouth to curse at the answer, but Rhett kept talking.

“I’m sorry, Link, I need to go. Goodnight.”

The soft chime of the call ending left Link feeling exposed, as if he’d gone to bed wrapped up in a warm blanket and woken up shivering on the floor. With difficulty, he left the closet and shuffled to bed.

He didn’t sleep at all that night.

 

* * *

 

Link had trouble eating much these days, now that he was consorting with rebels and entertaining traitorous thoughts.

But ultimately, it was all to benefit the High Command, as he told himself multiple times a day. He still planned to infiltrate and to learn enough about the rebels to net him a promotion and accolades from his superiors. Link had never been particularly ambitious, but he was loyal. And if loyalty ultimately meant good things for his career, then so much the better.

Still, the idea of lying to Rhett made him uncomfortable, as did the now-constant thought that his superiors were lying to him. Every mention of the High Command seemed sinister now, and when Bureau of Safety agents passed him on the street, Link clenched his briefcase stiffly and kept his eyes on the ground.

Despite the celebration of Tam Wilson’s rehabilitation as a victory for the High Command, tensions were high at work. Bureau of Safety agents swept through the rows of cubicles almost constantly — singling out employees for questioning in the conference room, asking others about their work history, or sometimes merely standing against the wall with their blue-gloved hands clasped in front of them. Link felt as if his body had been wound tight like a loaded catapult, ready to erupt at a moment’s notice.

At the same time, he began having trouble falling asleep at night.

He thought he could handle it at first. He set extra morning alarms, brewed more coffee, practiced smiling tight-lipped in the mirror, and kept his gaze pleasantly disinterested as he rode the subway.

But one morning, he overslept.

He rushed to his cubicle at 9:07 AM, fully aware that he looked a mess. Unkempt hair, tangled tie, yesterday’s wrinkled white shirt buttoned wrong under his suit coat.

Mr. Carson bustled into Link’s cubicle before he could even catch his breath.

“Late again, Mr. Neal.” His gaze took in Link’s disheveled appearance and a flash of rage crossed his face. “A word in my office, please.”

Link almost protested aloud, but caught sight of the Bureau of Safety agents now staring intently at him and changed his mind. He felt the mask shifting back into place.

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Carson’s office was sparsely furnished. His desk was empty except for the desktop monitor, mouse, and keyboard. He seated himself behind the desk and steepled his fingers, regarding Link coldly.

Link closed the door behind him.

The moment the latch clicked into place, Mr. Carson reared up from his desk.

“ _ How dare you. _ ”

His voice was just below a shout. Link flinched back against the door handle, his hands clenched at his sides. He kept his head down, bracing himself for the fury he knew was coming.

“You have always been a stellar employee, Mr. Neal. Before this year, your record was perfect. But then last month, you start coming to work late and you’ve received multiple reprimands. The rate of error in your work has increased from two point seven to three point five percent. Then today you—” He gestured at Link’s clothes with disgust, his face steadily reddening with rage. “—you come into  _ my _ department dressed as if you just grabbed some clothes out of the gutter.”

“My apologies—”

“ _ Quiet.” _

Link flinched.

“Of all things.” Mr. Carson shook his head, began pacing behind his desk. “Of all things!” He stopped, fixing Link with a furious glare. “A government employee — a servant of the High Command — should know better than to be seen in public looking like a common  _ degenerate. _ ”

Link’s jaw clenched. Every fiber of his being was screaming for him to  _ not _ be here, to open the door and run away, find a quiet closet where he could call Rhett and try to feel better.

Thinking about Rhett was a mistake. Link’s eyes burned.

“My apologies, Mr. Carson,” he said softly. “I will stay late—”

Behind him, someone knocked on the door.

Mr. Carson’s face went slack with incredulity; no one dared to interrupt him while he was in the middle of one of his thunderous rants. He gathered himself quickly, though, gesturing Link away from the door.

“Come in,” he said gruffly.

As the door opened, Link’s heart sank even further. Agent Yana stepped into the room, beaming at them both.

“Good morning, Mr. Carson, Mr. Neal.” She nodded to them both. “My apologies for interrupting, but I couldn’t help but overhear that Mr. Neal’s work has been suffering recently.”

“It has.” Mr. Carson’s eyes narrowed. Even he knew better than to disrespect a Bureau of Safety agent, but he was plainly curious. “Do you have any suggestions that may help?”

Yana beamed at him. Link suppressed a shudder.

“In many cases, a brief vacation may be all that Mr. Neal requires to feel more like his usual self.”

Link went cold. A voice at the back of his mind began screaming,  _ no no no no... _

“Rehabilitation?” Mr. Carson asked. He looked from Yana to Link and back again.

Yana flexed her gloved fingers and smiled directly at Link. “It would only be for a week.”

Mr. Carson frowned. “The offer is quite generous, Agent...?”

“Yana,” she said, her eyes never leaving Link’s face.”

“Agent Yana. A pleasure.” The simpering tone of his voice was almost sickening. “The offer is quite generous, but I’m afraid that we are overloaded with records to process and Mr. Neal is desperately needed here. I must respectfully decline the offer.”

A tiny frown appeared between Yana’s eyebrows. She turned her attention back to Mr. Carson. “My superior—”

“ _ My _ superior is Dr. Isidro,” Mr. Carson said quietly. “And I don’t believe she would take kindly to one of her top employees being taken away from work at the peak of busy season.”

Yana seemed to reconsider this; Dr. Isidro was the chief recorder of deeds, but she had strong ties to the Bureau of Safety. Finally, she nodded.

“As you wish, Mr. Carson. But I would suggest that you encourage Mr. Neal to attend some form of retraining.”

She swept out of the room without a backward glance.

Link thought he might cry with relief.

Mr. Carson muttered something under his breath and shook his head.

“You will take an unpaid day off tomorrow,” he told Link. He seemed calmer now, more like his usual brusque self. “There are daily patriotism classes held at the community center. You will attend one and report back to me how you will better your behavior and appearance in the future.”

Link nodded frantically, desperate for the conversation to end. “Yes, sir.”

“Now get out of here and make yourself look respectable, as a servant of the High Command ought to look.”

“Yes, sir!” The words tumbled unbidden from Link, force of habit taking over. “I won’t disappoint you, sir!”

Mr. Carson’s lip curled, but he said nothing.

 

* * *

 

Link never remembered how he survived the rest of the day, or how he made it home. He recalled bits and pieces afterwards of how the world seemed to tilt around him as he entered his apartment and how his legs shook so badly that he collapsed to the floor.

He didn’t know how long it took for the blind panic to subside and for him to uncurl from the fetal position. He was drenched and sweat, his breathing quick and shallow. His head throbbed painfully.

“You're okay,” he whispered hoarsely. “You're okay.”

But he wasn't. He  _ wasn't.  _ He wanted...

Link stumbled to the bathroom and fumbled for the shower. The resulting steam calmed him somewhat. He stripped down and stepped beneath the water.

He wanted  _ what _ ?

He wanted comfort. He wanted to feel that he wasn't alone.

He wanted Rhett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed this! I may or may not have slapped a bit of my own issues onto Link. Sometimes it just takes one question for a person's entire perspective on the world to begin falling apart. Is that a good thing in Link's case? We'll see...
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr!](http://lunar-winterlude.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

    Having the day off work felt mildly transgressive to Link. He’d slept poorly, his dreams wracked with nightmares of Yana’s grimacing smile and Tam’s eyes. Now, he sat on the edge of a park bench, pinching the skin between thumb and forefinger in hopes that the pain would keep his anxiety at bay.

    Rhett was late.

    They’d agreed to meet this afternoon, after Link’s mandatory patriotism class.

    Link’s head was still swimming with the speeches he’d heard, the faint smell of sweat and tension in the room. He’d spent the whole class twitching in his seat, glancing at the clock as often as he dared.

    He was glad the day was warm, at least. He hadn’t bothered to bring a jacket; his dark red button-down and jeans were warm enough.

    “How are you, my friend?”

    It was several seconds before Link remembered to act normal.

    “Hello.” His voice cracked.

    Rhett was in a wheelchair today, both legs bound in casts. A baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes. He wheeled himself closer.

    “You don’t look so good.”

    Link shook his head. He gestured towards the wheelchair. “You got hurt?”

    Rhett grinned. “Just part of the disguise. The Bureau of Safety’s looking for a tall guy wearing a mask, not a guy in a wheelchair wearing a hat.”

    He was positively _beaming._ His cheerfulness grated on Link’s frayed nerves, even as his smile made Link’s face heat up. He looked away.

    “You enjoy this, don’t you?” he muttered. “Sneaking around in disguise, like you’re someone special.”

    “Maybe I am.” Rhett pushed his hat back further on his head. “Why did you want to meet me?”

    “They were going to send me to rehabilitation yesterday.” The words burst from Link in a panicked whisper. “Just like Tam.” He leaned forward. “I-I can’t keep doing this. I can’t help you anymore.”

    Rhett’s eyebrows crept upwards. “Is that so.”

    “Yeah.” Link glanced around, but the park was empty except for a jogger and a woman pushing a stroller. “Yeah,” he said again. “I’m sorry.”

    “You keep saying one thing, but your actions tell a completely different story.” Rhett spoke slowly, carefully. “When we first met, you told me to get away, but then you showed up to talk. You tried to lecture me on how I was wrong, but then you agreed to help. Now you _say_ that you want to quit, but...” Rhett’s cheeks stood out as he grinned triumphantly. “What do you _really_ want?”

    Link looked away, let his gaze travel across the park. There was a gentle breeze dancing in the leaves above them. It was all so sinister — the normalcy of the day contrasting with what he knew was lurking beneath. Anxiety twisted in his gut like a snake.

    “Out,” he said finally. “I want to get out.”

    Rhett’s eyes narrowed. He nodded slowly.

    “I hope you don’t mind the cliche,” he said. “But the only way out of this is through.”

 

* * *

 

    Something about falling snow gave Link the sense that the city was holding its breath.

    He had decided to spend the morning in a cafe across the street from one of the city’s outlying plazas, snagging a seat in a big chair by the front window. Usually, he’d avoid being seen, but Rhett had insisted that he wouldn’t be recognized.

    And he trusted Rhett. He could admit that without hesitation now.

    Leaving everything behind had been terrifying at first, like stepping off the edge of a ledge into darkness. Link only returned to his apartment to get some money and his toothbrush. (“It’s a very nice one,” he’d said in response to Rhett’s raised eyebrows.) Then he let Rhett take him away.

    The next several weeks had been a blur. There had been ID documents to forge, disguises to find. Link had traded his thick, dark glasses frames for clear ones and trimmed his hair shorter than it had ever been in his life. He hardly recognized himself in the mirror. Ellie told him he looked like a schoolboy.

    Link had tried to laugh at that, but it was difficult. He still had nightmares about the Bureau, fear clinging to him like a sour aftertaste.

    Now, he took a sip of coffee and let his gaze linger on the falling snow. There were many people hurrying to and fro despite the weather; the High Command rarely issued ordinances in favor of closing businesses. A snowplow sailed past on the road, sending up a spray of dirty snow that scattered the pedestrians on the sidewalk.

    Link almost laughed.

    Rhett had told him to spend time observing, taking mental notes of what he saw. Not passing judgement or making speculations, just gathering information.

    “Like a computer,” he’d said.

    Link stole glances at that lean profile whenever he could. Rhett walked with a limp, his brow knitted into a perpetual frown. He was always talking, always planning, always reviewing information. There was something about his mannerisms that exuded confidence. Just being near him made Link feel calmer.

    Rhett made him feel like he didn’t need to follow any sort of rules. He refused to be addressed with honorifics, he never asked any polite questions, he only wanted to talk about new and fascinating ideas. Rhett gave him a sense of purpose unlike anything he’d felt before. Link found himself mesmerized, and with that feeling came another, as if a part of him that had lain dormant for years was finally coming awake.

    Link often worked with Ellie these days. She was cool towards him at first, but gradually warmed to him as she saw how hard he worked.

    “Rhett was in rehabilitation, did you know?” she told him once. “He never tells anyone that. They tortured him, but he never broke.” She grinned. “That’s why he was picked to lead what we’ve been doing here in Hammerstead. He’s not afraid of anything.”

    They were folding a stack of anti-High Command pamphlets that had been printed out of town, according to Rhett.

    “What are you afraid of?”

    She wrinkled her nose. “Spiders.” He grinned at that. She gave him a nudge. “Your turn.”

    He had a momentary thought of making a joke, but settled on the truth instead. “Dying alone.”

    “What?” She shook her head and Link caught her rolling her eyes. “How morbid.”

    Link didn’t know what to say about that.

    “I need to warn you, though.” Her hands went still.

    “What?”

    Ellie lowered her voice. “Rhett only cares about the work that we’re doing. Not about you or me or anyone else. He’s committed to the mission, and he’ll stomp on anyone who gets in his way.”

    “I figured as much.” Link tried to seem uncaring, managing to shrug.

    Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

    “I just admire him, is all.”

    “Sure.” Ellie’s grin seemed almost triumphant. “Sure, you do.”

    Remembering that conversation made Link uneasy, leaving a shaky feeling in the pit of his stomach.

    The door opened, bringing with it a biting gust of icy air and the rushing sound of cars driving through the slush in the streets. Link tugged the hem of his grey beanie down, but the newcomers — a young couple wearing matching peacoats — didn’t seem to notice him.

    Link raised his coffee cup to his lips again.

    And nearly dropped it.

    The man was unfamiliar, but Link instantly remembered the woman. Bureau of Safety agent Evette.

    He almost bolted for the door right then. She would recognize him immediately, wouldn’t she? Even though he was bundled in an old coat and scarf and wearing a beanie?

    The man and Evette ordered their coffee and waited by the counter, their heads tilted together. They were holding hands.

    Evette wasn’t wearing those blue latex gloves.

    Link had never seen an off-duty Bureau of Safety agent before. Not that he knew of, anyway. He’d imagined that they operated like androids: working constantly and only stopping to sleep.

    It hurt a little, seeing them talking and smiling so sweetly while he was huddled by the window, hidden and alone.

    He angled his chair away from them and tried to focus on the falling snow instead of on how badly his heart was pounding.

    A woman wearing a government badge strode purposefully by, her boots splashing in the slush. Seeing her reminded Link of his days working for the recorder of deeds, back when life was a simple matter of doing exactly what he was told.

    Now, he, Rhett, and Ellie had set up shop in an underground bunker beneath the house of a rebel sympathizer — “resistance supporter,” Rhett had corrected him — named Morgan. He was a lanky man with a tattoo of a compass on his forearm and seemed to be perpetually drinking coffee. He didn’t talk much.

    Link was surrounded by constant activity in his new life. Rhett and Ellie didn’t seem to sleep much. They were constantly planning and reviewing information to send to other members of the resistance. Link found himself relegated to menial tasks at first, and he surprised himself by enjoying them. It gave him something to focus on and take pride in besides the worry of getting caught.

    But right now, his coffee cup cradled between his hands and a Bureau of Safety agent just a few yards away, there was little else he could think of.

    Coming to the cafe had been a terrible idea.

    Evette and her partner were leaving now. Link chanced a glance in their direction as they opened the door.

    His eyes met Evette’s for a split second. In an instant, her grin broadened to an unsettling degree.

    She winked.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added tags for dubious consent (just to be safe) and graphic violence.
> 
> Shout-out to [mythical-michelle](http://mythical-michelle.tumblr.com/) and [evidentlyhonest](https://evidentlyhonest.tumblr.com) for beta-reading this chapter. :)

    Because nothing in Link’s life made sense anymore, he found himself tagging along with Rhett to resistance meetings. These happened a few times every month, at different places all over the city. Ellie seemed to disapprove, but otherwise said nothing.

    Tonight, he stood beside Rhett in a corner of the back room of a computer repair shop. It was stuffy in here, dimly lit and too warm, excitement and anxiety thick in the air. People were restless here, checking phones, glancing towards the blacked-out windows. Link shifted from foot to foot and listened to the reports being made. There were resistance groups scattered all over the city and the country, he learned. They were gathering resources, making plans, waiting for the right time to act.

    They were much more organized than the High Command’s broadcasts had led him to believe.

    At one point, Rhett was called upon to speak, and he limped to the center of the room. He spoke quietly but firmly, every word forceful and passionate. Link was mesmerized by the strength in that voice. When Rhett spoke, the room fell silent. People nodded along with his words.

    “No matter what happens,” Rhett said, “no matter what the High Command tries to do to us, we are going to continue with the plan.” He looked around the room, catching as many eyes as he could. His gaze fell on Link. “And we are _going to succeed.”_

    There was a murmur of approval. Link looked away, raising a hand to his face to hide a sudden urge to blush and smile.

    The meeting broke up shortly after Rhett’s speech. The attendees began leaving in twos and threes, their hats and scarves pulled over their faces. A small crowd of folks gathered around Rhett, wanting to talk until the last possible moment.

    Link wanted to go home.

    The room was still hot and stuffy, even as it emptied out. He nudged Rhett, pointed to himself and the door, and mouthed, “I’ll wait outside.” Rhett, deep in conversation with someone whose name Link had forgotten, only nodded.

    Behind the shop, Link sank against the wall in relief. He let out a sigh, his breath forming a faint cloud as it left him. It was late February, and winter seemed to grip the city as strongly as ever. Shrinking mounds of grey snow lingered in the gutters, slush coated the streets, and the air was cold and still. The computer repair shop was part of a strip mall that overlooked the highway which curved around downtown Hammerstead. The headlights of passing cars glided past him below as he let his mind wander.

    These long nights seemed to make Rhett energetic. Everything seemed to happen at night now, either that or in furtive meetings in back alleys. Meetings, stakeouts, messages, deliveries, and afterwards there was home, where he went to bed alone and thought about Rhett, whose room was beside his.

    He’d jerked off once, thinking of Rhett. One of those nights when he’d been too hot and restless to sleep. But these days, he tried harder to keep his feelings hidden. No more lingering glances or wandering thoughts. Ellie was probably right. Rhett didn’t seem interested in any kind of relationship; his energy seemed entirely focused on building up the resistance. Link wasn’t even sure if he was gay.

    And on top of that, Rhett barely ever slept. Link would come up to the kitchen to find Rhett sitting at the table there, hair falling out of its messy bun, empty mugs of coffee gathered on the table beside him. He was often talking with Morgan and Ellie or calling someone from another resistance band across the city, or reading papers that he stuffed back into their envelopes when Link entered the room. They were planning something important, but Link hadn’t been told the details yet.

    He wondered if he should be more offended that they didn’t trust him enough to confide in him. He had originally wanted to gather information on the resistance to give to the High Command, but now he wasn’t sure that this was a good idea.

    By this point, he’d heard enough horror stories of rehabilitation to make him hesitate.

    He still hadn’t told anyone about his encounter with Evette at the coffee shop. He’d scrambled home afterwards, his heart thumping madly, peering frantically over his shoulder every few moments. But no Bureau of Safety of agents appeared. No one came knocking at Morgan’s door, asking to search the house.

    It made him anxious. What would a government agent have to gain from not turning him in? Unless...

    Unless they’d been tracking him all along. Unless they were watching and waiting for the perfect time to strike.

    Link clenched his jaw to keep from shivering.

    Rhett had insisted that they were safe in their hideout below Morgan’s house. And as much as he was coming to fear the Bureau of Safety, he trusted Rhett.

    Really, he did.

    Even though he couldn’t stop digging the nail of his thumb into the pad of his fingers now. Pinky, ring, middle, first, and back again, alternating tempo until his fingertips stung. He had forgotten to bring gloves tonight. He finally stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat, stamped his boots a few times, and waited.

    The door beside Link opened, letting out a burst of warmth and light. Another man stepped out, yawning and stretching both arms over his head. He and Link shared a nod. Link remembered seeing him before. He was one of the younger resistance folks, a bit shorter than Link, with close-cropped dark hair and a square jaw. He leaned against the wall now, tapping a box of cigarettes against his thigh.

    “Got a light?” he asked.

    Link shook his head. “Sorry.”

    The man sighed, but shook the box again before stuffing it back into his pocket. They watched the cars pass on the highway below.

    “World’s a mess, isn’t it,” the man said.

    “Yeah.”

    “And we have the audacity to think we can fix it.” He laughed, breaking off into a cough. “I’ve seen you around before, yeah? I’m Ben.”

    “Link.”

    Ben’s head turned towards him, his eyes hidden in darkness. “You got anywhere to be tonight, Link?”

    Link shrugged. “Just home.”

    “Uh-huh.”

    “What are you lookin’ at?” Link meant to sound lighthearted, but the words came out with an edge of annoyance.

    “Just thinking.” Ben looked away. “I’m going home in a bit. Gonna smoke a bit, watch some movies—government-approved of course! Do you think you wanna...”

    He trailed off, leaving an unspoken invitation hanging in the air. Link toyed with the idea briefly. Ben’s gaze was one that hadn’t been directed his way in months. He’d nearly forgotten how much he liked the feeling of being looked at that way. It made him stand up a little straighter and push his beanie back from his forehead.

    “Well—”

    The door opened again and Rhett limped out. He saw the two of them together and stopped.

    “Not _him,_ Ben.” He almost sounded angry.

    Ben only shrugged. “Suit yourself, Rhett.” He tipped his head towards Link. “See you later, maybe.”

    He sauntered away without waiting for a reply, hands in his pockets.

    Rhett took Link by the elbow in a strangely protective gesture. “Let’s go.”

    Link shook him off. “I can _walk,_ thanks.”

    Ellie and Morgan were staying behind to work on a project with some other folks, so Rhett and Link walked home alone. They rounded the corner of the strip mall and headed down the sidewalk in silence, salt and old ice crunching beneath their boots.

    Rhett had abandoned his usual wheelchair disguise in favor of a massive wool coat tonight, his hair tucked beneath a beanie and his face half-covered by a scarf.

    “I thought tonight went well,” he said, his voice muffled by the fabric. “We’re making progress.”

    “We could be caught at any time.”

    Rhett snorted. “You worry too much.”

    “One of the first things I ever learned was that ‘The High Command sees, knows, and cares for all.’”

    Rhett actually _chuckled_ at that. “It’s hard to get those phrases out of your head, isn’t it.” He stopped walking, turning so that he blocked Link as well. “Listen. The High Command doesn’t know as much as they want you to think they do.”

    His confidence grated on Link’s nerves. “How do _you_ know?”

    “Spies in high places.” Rhett gave him a strange little smile and kept walking.

    Now Link was really annoyed. “What the hell does _that_ mean.”

    “Means there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

    He was so fucking _calm._ It was infuriating.

    “Ben didn’t seem to think so,” Link muttered, glancing sidelong as he spoke.

    Rhett was quiet for a moment. “What did he say to you?”

    Link shrugged in an exaggerated show of carelessness. “He asked if I wanted to go home with him.”

    “What did you say to him?” It was Rhett’s turn to sound irritated.

    “I said not tonight. But I might change my mind.”

    Rhett stumbled on a patch of ice. He caught his balance before Link could reach him.

    “Don’t,” he said, hand raised to keep Link at bay.

    “What’s wrong?” Link let a sardonic edge creep into his voice. “What, you expect me to... to sit around in hiding all day? Not talking to anybody but you and Morgan and Ellie? Sometimes I want to have fun, too.”

    “Fun,” Rhett repeated. “The hell does that mean?”

    “It means...” Link felt a grin spread across his face, and this time he didn’t try to hide it. “Means there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

    Rhett stared at him. For a moment, Link wondered if he’d gone too far. But then Rhett turned away and kept walking, his limp more pronounced as he quickened his pace. Link had to trot to catch up.

    They had left the shops and businesses behind and were now passing a series of high-rise apartments. Almost no one else was out this late, aside from a few cars cruising past.

    “You don’t like Ben,” Link said triumphantly. “You really don’t like him, do you?”

    “Ben’s fine,” Rhett grunted. “He just forgot that you’re with _me._ ”

    The words made Link falter; it wasn’t the response he’d expected. “I-I’m with you here, yeah, but I’m not _with_ anyone in that sense.”

    More silence. Rhett walked more slowly now, his head bowed. He said something very quietly.

    “What?”

    In a flurry of movement, Rhett whipped around and grabbed his arm. He pulled Link into an alley between two apartment buildings, shoving him against the wall.

    “I said that you could be,” he rasped.

    His eyes were bright and hard, his face red with more than just the cold. Link had never seen him so flustered before.

    “Stop messing with me,” he whispered.

    The bricks of the wall behind him dug into his back as Rhett pushed in closer.

    “I’m not,” he said.

    And before Link could speak, Rhett leaned in and kissed him, right on his cheek.

    His touch was hot enough to set Link’s whole face ablaze. Neither of them moved for a moment. Then gently, Rhett pressed his lips against Link’s.

    It was a dry kiss. Link’s first thought was that he wished he’d thought to put on some chapstick earlier. Rhett didn’t seem to care, though. His tongue poked out, nudging at Link’s lips.

    Link let him in.

    Rhett tasted like mint and spice and _heat._ So hot that Link felt dizzy. He felt an answering warmth stir in his own body, low and thick. He clutched at Rhett’s coat for support.

    The mood was shattered by a nearby tapping sound.

    “Excuse me, gentlemen.” A crisp, clipped voice. “We have a strict no loitering policy in this neighborhood. I will have to ask you to move along.”

    Rhett drew back, leaving Link shivering. A flashlight shone on both of them, pausing on Rhett’s face.

    “Wait a minute—”

    Rhett bolted. Link did the same seconds later, but the Bureau of Safety agent was faster. He grabbed Link around the neck, pressing the cold barrel of a gun to his temple. Rhett froze when he saw this, his face a mask of horror.

    Link’s face still burned from the kiss. In the scuffle, his glasses had been knocked off and now everything had gone fuzzy around the edges. He was too terrified to move. Amidst the internal keening of panic, he wondered if this was how he would die: on a winter night in an alley, his blood seeping into the snow.

    “Wait. Please.” Rhett raised both hands in the air. “Don’t hurt him.”

    “I know who you are,” the agent snarled. “Against the wall. Hands behind your head.”

    Rhett obeyed, and Link was shoved beside him in the same position. Link felt sick. He knew what would come next: punishment and rehabilitation and the emptiness that he’d seen behind Tam Wilson’s eyes.

    When he glanced wildly beside him, he was baffled to see that Rhett’s face had gone oddly calm.

    There was a burst of static behind them as the agent spoke into his radio. “I have—”

    Rhett kicked backwards. His leg was long enough to knock the agent off-balance.

    A gunshot crackled through the air. Link felt a sharp impact in his arm.

    Rhett pounced on the man before he could shoot again, knees digging into the slush as he straddled the struggling form. He’d somehow gotten the man’s gun into his own hands.

    The agent opened his mouth to yell for help, but Rhett was faster. Without hesitation, he shoved the gun between the man’s teeth and fired.

    A huge splash of dark blood splattered on the snow and against the brick wall. The man’s body jerked once, then went still.

    Rhett never stopped moving. He tucked the gun in his coat, rolled the body out of view of the street, got to his feet, and reached for Link.

    It was quiet now. Link thought he could hear sirens in the distance.

    Rhett was speaking to him, touching him. But Link only saw his shoulder, bleeding through his now-torn coat.

    His knees gave out, but Rhett caught him. He was still talking, but all Link could think about was blood. The blood in the snow of the alley they were leaving behind, the blood soaking through his coat, the agent’s blood that now speckled Rhett’s face...

    Rhett had kissed him.

    And then he’d killed a man.

    Bile rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down. With difficulty, he latched onto the thread of Rhett’s gentle voice, Rhett’s arm supporting him, and let that guide him home.

    Rhett had _kissed_ him.

 

* * *

 

    The first sensation to break through Link’s shock was the sting of a washcloth pressing against his shoulder.

    He was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat, Rhett bending over him.

    “Just let me clean this,” Rhett was saying softly. “Hold still for a bit.”

    Link braced himself against the sickening burn. When he peeked at his shoulder again, Rhett was applying a greasy ointment to the wound, followed by a thick bandage. His fingers lingered on the gauze.

    “You got lucky,” he said. “It just grazed you.”

    Link looked down at himself. His coat, shirt, and boots had been removed at some point, but he couldn’t recall when.

    “You killed him,” he said. His voice sounded broken. “You just _killed him._ ” He looked down at his own hands, trembling in his lap. “I just... I...”

    “What, you wanted me to let him shoot you? Wanted to let him take us in for rehab?” There was a mocking edge to Rhett’s voice that Link didn’t like. Rhett perched on the edge of a tub, his elbows on his knees. Wearing nothing but a stained white tank top and jeans. He’d washed the blood from his face, and a few stray hairs clung to his damp forehead. It was the first time Link had seen Rhett undressed this far. He was thinner than Link had expected.

    Briefly, Link’s eyes caught on Rhett’s scars. There were so many of them. Twisting around his wrists, snaking up his arms in rope-like keloids, cross-hatching the backs of his hands in tiny white marks...

    Link turned away. He caught sight of his glasses, miraculously unbroken and folded beside the sink. He snatched them up, fumbling as he crookedly put them on. Most of Rhett’s scars were faded, but a few looked as if they’d only recently healed.

    When Link tried to stand, the entire bathroom wavered around him. He staggered back against the counter.

    Rhett was on his feet in a second. He reached out to steady him, covering Link’s shaking hands with his own callused ones.

    “Listen,” he said quietly. “I’ve killed some of those bastards before. And I’m going to kill again before all of this is over.” There was a grin in his voice, an attempt at lightheartedness. “You’ll get used to it.”

    Link couldn’t bring himself to look up. He was aching all over. He wanted to get out of this house, wanted to run away screaming from this mess and the High Command and the way that Rhett was definitely _not_ letting his hands go.

    There was something building between them, something that seemed to fill the tiny bathroom until Link could hardly breathe.

    His eyes flicked upward. Rhett was leaning in, his eyes full of a fierce intensity that held Link in place, just as he had when they’d first met.

    It only made sense to kiss him again.

    Their lips met and it felt sweeter now that he wasn’t shivering and his toes weren’t numb with the cold. He reveled in the softness of Rhett’s beard and lips and _tongue._ Hands roamed lightly across Link’s back and hips before Rhett began pawing at him through his jeans.

    “Wait...”

    Rhett’s mouth closed over his again, and Link forgot his protests.

    His kisses were almost delicate, but the hand clutching at him was decidedly less so. Rhett pushed him against the rim of the sink, as imposing as he’d been in the alley. He got a knee between Link’s legs and _pressed_ , and suddenly Link needed more of it. He pushed back against the pressure, breath catching in his throat.

    “Good,” Rhett murmured.

    It wasn’t a question. Link wasn’t sure if he could have replied even if it had been. He thrust into Rhett’s hand, and suddenly Rhett was tearing at his jeans. He shoved a hand into his briefs and stroked him at a pace that made Link’s knees go weak. Link made a sound that might have been a plea, and Rhett chuckled and moved faster.

    Link’s fingers dug into the back of Rhett’s shirt, his breath coming more quickly now. This was so much more than he could have ever imagined. He peered down, saw himself hard and thick in Rhett’s scarred fist. The sight made his toes curl. He buried his face in the crook of Rhett’s neck and rocked against him desperately.

    “There we go,” Rhett whispered, breath hot against Link’s ear.

    Link could still feel the imprint of the gun barrel against his temple, still saw the body of the agent when he closed his eyes. But then Rhett’s teeth grazed the shell of Link’s ear, and everything faded away but that sensation. Rhett did it again, and Link choked out a few words of encouragement.

    Rhett kept up a steady stream of soft words as he worked, all of them sweet and perfect. It was enough to make Link’s eyes burn. He didn’t deserve this; he was a traitor to his country. He should have died tonight.

    Rhett ran the tip of his tongue over Link’s ear this time, and Link saw sparks go off behind his eyelids. Heat flooded his nerves at the contact, leaving him tense and gasping as he moved against the hand stroking him at a furious pace. He came with a sharp cry, clinging to Rhett with both arms as his body shook.

    Rhett stroked him a few more times, slow and firm, only stopping when Link fumbled for his wrist.

    Then they were still. Link kept his head buried in the crook of Rhett’s neck, his eyes shut against an unexpected rush of emotion as he tried to catch his breath.

    He was too drained to protest when Rhett helped him to bed afterwards. The gentle treatment was comforting. He sank gratefully onto the bed and sighed when the covers were pulled over him.

    His heart sank, however, when Rhett turned to leave the room.

    “Wait.” His voice still sounded broken. “You couldn’t... could you stay with me?”

    Rhett shook his head.

    “Got some work to do.”

    He went out and quietly closed the door behind him.

    And now that Link was alone, aching and spent in the dark, he wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben: netflix and chill?  
> Link: hmmm-  
> Rhett: NO  
> Link: but  
> Rhett: NO KISS BEN. ONLY KISS ME.
> 
> (i couldn't resist)


	7. Chapter 7

    The throbbing pain of his arm woke him, dragging him from restless sleep to the discomfort of sheets tangled around his legs. Link groaned, burying his face in his pillow as he reached for his shoulder.

    The rough texture of a bandage made him pause.

    Rhett had done that for him.

    He could still feel those scars beneath his fingers and Rhett’s hot breath against his ear.

    Link groaned again, but this time it was more from embarrassment.

    Getting dressed was an arduous task. It hurt to lift his injured arm. He settled for pulling on some sweatpants and draping a hoodie across his shoulders before venturing out.

    The shelter was a hidden extension of Morgan’s basement. A room on the either side of a passageway that led to the basement on one end and a hidden exit in the woods on the other. There were often other resistance members about, but today all was still. Link padded barefoot down the passage, through the basement, and up the stairs. He put a hand on the doorknob, but paused at the rattle of a pill bottle on the other side.

    He opened the door a crack.

    Rhett was sitting at the kitchen table before his laptop, his hair loose around his shoulders. His teeth showed as he tossed back a gulp of water and some pills from the bottle beside him. He closed his eyes with a ragged sigh, absently running his hand over his bad leg.

    He looked softer with his hair down. Less dangerous, more vulnerable. Link hadn’t even remembered that Rhett walked with a limp; he was usually a whirlwind of energy or a pillar of intense concentration.

    But this morning, wearing the same tank top and jeans as the previous night, he just looked _tired._ And _God,_ even after the turmoil of the previous night, Link wanted him badly.

    He opened the door.

    Rhett’s head snapped toward him, his jaw tight. His face softened when he met Link’s eyes.

    “Mornin’.” His voice was raw, but he seemed to be in a good mood. He gestured toward the laptop. “Come look at this.”

    Link crossed the room to watch over Rhett’s shoulder. It was a clip of news footage. An aerial view of a blocked-off street, then a ground-level view of caution tape stretched between two apartment buildings. An earnest male voiceover was describing a grisly murder scene that had been discovered by a concerned citizen the previous night.

    A photo of the victim was shown. Thirty-four year old Richard Hamilton, devoted agent of the Bureau of Safety. He had died bravely in the line of duty, murdered by a coward who had thought nothing of shedding innocent blood.

    Rhett chuckled at that.

    Then there was footage of the alley itself, chalk outlines and blood on the wall.

    Link looked away, his stomach turning. He saw the agent’s body convulse again, blood splattering against the wall in the alley. It was difficult to reconcile that image with that of Rhett’s face inches from his. Bizarre to think that both events had happened the same night.

    “We will find the criminals who did this,” the newscaster was saying. There were tears in his eyes. “We will find them and bring them to justice. As a reminder, if you have any information regarding any criminal activity, please contact your nearest Bureau of Safety office. We can only remain safe as long as we remain vigilant. And on this Friday, the eighth day of March, let us never forget.” He paused for a moment, and Link mouthed the next words along with him. “The High Command provides for us. The High Command protects us. The High Command—”

    Rhett paused the video.

    “Isn’t it amazing?” he said, face alight with a glee that seemed entirely inappropriate. “They’re scared. I decided last night that we should take advantage of this. We need a way to boost morale _and_ show the High Command how dangerous we can be.”

    “Like... what?” Link asked slowly. This was definitely _not_ the conversation he had expected. He was used to awkward morning-after banter, to teasing his partners and watching them squirm. Rhett, however, was positively _beaming_ up at him about something that had nothing to do with the previous night.

    Rhett explained that he wanted to infiltrate a rehabilitation facility, to expose the High Command’s crimes for the world to see.

    “There’s still a lot of work to do. I’ll have to talk about this with the others when we meet tonight.” He hesitated. “And, I-I was thinking that you might be good at this.”

    Link raised both eyebrows.

    “Undercover,” Rhett explained. “It would be _perfect.”_

    “Well, I’d love to help, but I’m kinda...” Link trailed off and gestured at his shoulder. He was feeling a bit miffed.

    Rhett’s eyes went to Link’s bandage for the first time. “How’s your shoulder?” he asked, but before Link could answer, he waved a hand and went on. “I can help you change the bandage after this. But the important thing is that we need to capitalize on this situation _now._ So if—”

    “Rhett.” Link felt an incredulous smile spreading across his face. “I got _shot_ last night.”

    “I know.” Rhett nodded. “But you can stand, can’t you? This is important. And don’t tell me you _can’t_. When we first met, you gave me information for weeks without getting caught. This will be much easier than that.”

    “That’s all that matters to you, huh? Nothing else?”

    Link didn’t wait for an answer. He turned away, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes burning with disappointment and anger. He fumbled one-handed in the cabinet for cereal, almost dropping the box onto his own head and damn, he knew he was being childish, but _still._

    He hadn’t realized he liked Rhett this much. It frustrated him, left him clumsier than usual. He’d spent months living and working with the man, watching and wondering what it might be like to press his lips into the softness of that beard. He didn’t care that Rhett seemed to have already moved on. There was no way he’d be satisfied with what they’d done the previous night.

    “Link... hey.” Behind him came the scrape of a chair, then Rhett’s presence behind him. His voice was nearly a purr. “What’s wrong?”

    At the touch of his hand, Link felt his anger melt away, leaving nothing but a silent keening for _Rhett, Rhett, more Rhett._ He sighed, let himself sink back into that warm embrace.

    “I’m sorry,” Rhett murmured, arms curling around Link’s middle. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.” He pressed a kiss to Link’s ear, so delicate that it made Link shiver. “I know it’s a lot to ask. You’ve already done so much to help us. To help me.”

    In that moment, Link knew he was lost. He turned his body enough to get his lips against Rhett’s, heedless of the sharp twinge from his shoulder.

    “Rhett,” he whispered between kisses, his voice thin. “What happened last night?”

    “A lot.” Rhett’s grin was inscrutable. “Would you be up for more?”

    “Yes,” Link whispered, pressing back against him. “ _God,_ yes...”

    The world outside was full of shootings in alleys and blood splattering on walls, but right now, he needed this more than anything. Rhett tasted of green tea and that same underlying heat that had set Link ablaze the previous night. And when Link ran his fingers through Rhett’s hair, the moan he got in response sent a thrill up his spine.

    But just as he felt his body beginning to respond, Rhett pulled back.

    His eyes were glittering beneath the mess of his hair.

    “Not now,” he murmured. “Later. If you help.”

 

* * *

 

    It was impossible for Link to say no to that.

    But now that he was standing in the reception area of Hammerstead Rehabilitation, waiting to be admitted as a visitor, he felt pretty sick.

    Rhett and Ellie were in their van somewhere nearby, ready to swoop in to pick him up if necessary.

    Link handed his forged ID to the Bureau of safety agent behind the front desk. He was dressed in a newly tailored suit and his hair had been parted and brushed to one side. There was a camera disguised as a lapel pin on his shirt, for recording “anything unusual,” Rhett had said. He had grown out his beard, trimmed his hair shorter, and changed his glasses. His shoulder was healing well thanks to Rhett and a resistance doctor they had secretly visited, and he could use both arms without too much pain.

    Today, he was Mr. Charlie Lamont, newly promoted administrator of a rehab facility in a smaller town, and he was here to see the inspiring work that the High Command was doing in the capital.

    That was all he had to do. Join one of the center’s daily tours and record everything he saw, particularly anything that could be useful to the resistance.

    The Bureau of Safety agent eyed him and his ID for what felt like ages. When she finally smiled, he forced himself to smile back.

    “Welcome to Hammerstead Rehabilitation, Mr. Lamont,” she said as she returned his ID. “The tour will begin momentarily.”

    The facility was all glass and chrome and light, with identical hallways leading off in all directions and innumerable closed doors. Employees in white coats and patients wearing pale blue jumpsuits drifted quietly past the small tour group. Everything was cushioned with soft voices and pleasant smiles. Link found himself reaching deep within to match their well-practiced pleasantries, falling back on long-forgotten habits, slipping the old mask back into place.

    Their tour guide was a blond woman with a practiced smile. She led Link and several other visitors through the building.

    “Hammerstead Rehabilitation is a state-of-the-art center designed to perfectly meet the needs of the wayward citizen. For the past ten years, the High Command has graciously allowed us to be the center of their efforts to aid all citizens in understanding how much our leaders care for us.”

    Link surprised himself by feeling oddly exhilarated as he strolled along with them, smiling thin-lipped at the tour guide when she met his gaze. Even if his stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering like a frightened bird, he knew where he stood in comparison to those around him. He knew how to play his part.

    The main corridor opened up onto a sunlit green surrounded by sharply manicured hedges. The tour guide began droning on about the facility’s size and the work its residents did to support it, but Link’s attention was elsewhere.

    A group of patients had been playing basketball on a nearby court, but they were standing in uncertain groups, the ball sitting forgotten beneath one hoop. Their attention was on the patient being led away by two employees.

    “You can’t do this to me!” he yelled at them. “You can’t... you can’t...”

    This seemed unusual enough.

    Link excused himself from the tour group under the pretense of finding a restroom and followed them. His heart was thumping madly, but he kept moving. All he had to do was record what they were doing, and then he could go back to Rhett and Ellie.

    The protesting man was ushered away from the main hall and down a dark corridor, his shouts cutting through the calm and drawing a few stares. Link hung back, watching as they paused before a bathroom door before dragging the man inside.

    As soon as they entered, he bolted down the hallway after them and peered inside. The two white-clad men had the patient pressed against the tiles of the wall by the sinks.

    “I just want to go home,” the patient was whispering. He looked to be much younger than Link, maybe in his early twenties. “Please, it’s been months...”

    One of the white-coated men, a bald man with a full, dark beard, struck him across the face, hard enough to make Link flinch.

    “Why were you plotting to escape?” he demanded. “Why do you not trust the order that the High Command has brought to your life?”

    No answer, just more pleading.

    “It seems that you may need extra rehabilitation,” the bald man said.

    At those words, their patient let out a shriek. He tried to bolt for the door, but the two men grabbed him and pinned him to the wall.

    “Get him quiet,” the bald man ordered.

    The other man produced a syringe from a pack at his belt and shoved it into the patient’s neck. His body jerked as if he’d been shocked, but within moments, he went limp, his voice trailing off into weak sobs.

    Link didn’t wait to see more. His knees were weak with fear, but he made himself return to the main corridor calmly and purposefully, as if he was supposed to be there. By the time he rejoined the tour group, his hands were still shaking, but his practiced smile was back in place.

 

* * *

 

    Rhett was thrilled.

    He reviewed the footage from Link’s hidden camera with Ellie and Morgan gathered behind his chair in the kitchen. Link stood apart from them at the kitchen counter, taking a long pull from a beer. He couldn’t bring himself to look at what he recorded.

    “It’s perfect,” Rhett said, his face alight.

    He planned to edit the footage down to the important bits, then upload it for online distribution. Government workers would take it down almost immediately, of course, but he planned to upload it to as many platforms as possible, in hopes of exposing the true nature of rehabilitation.

    Link left them talking excitedly at the kitchen table and went to shower and shave.

    The hot water helped calm his nerves somewhat. He could still hardly believe that he’d been in a place crawling with Bureau of Safety agents without being caught. It had been terrifying, but he had to admit that he’d enjoyed the thrill.

    When he got back to his room, wearing nothing but a new bandage on his shoulder and the towel around his waist, he found Rhett sitting on his bed, his hands folded.

    “I think I owe you an apology,” he said with that same unreadable grin. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually go through with it.”

    Link shifted in place in the doorway, acutely aware of a water droplet running down his back and the fact that he was practically naked.

    “Surprise,” he said.

    It sounded weak, but Rhett threw back his head and laughed. “Come here. And turn off the lights.”

    Their first kiss went hot and heavy almost immediately. Something about being together in the dark, forced to keep quiet since Ellie and Morgan might hear, made Link’s blood run hot. Rhett seemed similarly affected. He pinned Link to the bed on his back and yanked the towel away in a show of force that left Link weak. The kisses turned long and deep, Rhett’s beard prickling against Link’s freshly shaven upper lip. He could hardly catch his breath.

    One of Rhett’s hands brushed the back of Link’s neck.

    He jerked away, rubbing a hand over the tingling spot.

    “Don't touch me there.”

    “Why not?” Rhett’s eyes had gone hazy. His next kiss was delicate and soft, quite unlike the rough drag of denim against Link’s bare thighs.

    “I'm-I'm sensitive there.”

    “ _Sensitive,_ ” Rhett echoed, his beard brushing against Link’s cheek. “Mmhmm, there are a few places I’ve noticed so far. Here...” His tongue traced the edge of Link’s ear, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. “Here...” His fingers found a nipple and pinched lightly. “And here...” He caressed the back of Link’s hair, muffling Link’s moans with another kiss.

    He’d been paying attention. The thought sent a thrill of pleasure through Link, that Rhett had been studying his every reaction.

    Then Rhett’s hand closed around him, and he made a strangled sound that came out louder than he’d intended. Rhett chuckled softly.

    They both got off that night. With Link pinned against the bed and Rhett propped up above him, his own jeans pushed down just enough for him to stroke them both together. Link came first, arching into the weight of Rhett on top of him as he convulsed. Rhett let out another breathless chuckle.

    “You’re lovely,” he murmured, so low and sweet that Link’s toes curled in the sheets.

    Rhett came moments later with a quiet moan and a sharp jerk of his hips. Then there was just his breathing, hot and quick at Link’s throat.

    When the afterglow haze had faded a bit, Link tentatively ran a hand through Rhett’s hair.

    “Can you stay with me tonight?”

    To his surprise, Rhett murmured, “If you want.”

    After a quick cleanup, Link fished a pair of briefs from the small pile of clothes folded on the chair beside the bed while Rhett kicked off his jeans. They lay side-by-side in the sheets, Link’s cheek to Rhett’s chest.

    It occurred to Link that he was extremely lucky, all things considered.

    “Can I ask you a question,” he murmured, eyes fixed on Rhett’s still form in the dark.

    “Go for it.” Rhett sounded sleepy.

    “Why did you approach me that night we first met? When you asked me if I wanted to know the truth?”

    “You weren’t the only one I tried to talk to.” There was a smile in Rhett’s voice, and something else that Link thought he’d understand if he could see Rhett’s face. “But you were the only one who actually came to meet with me. The only one who wanted to help.”

    Link scoffed, even as he blushed at the words. “I find that hard to believe.”

    “Believe what you want.” Rhett chuckled softly. He rolled over to face the wall. “I’m going to sleep.”

    Link felt his heart sink a little, but he did his best to quell the feeling. They’d both gotten what they wanted today; he should be content with that.

    He couldn’t help shuffling closer to Rhett, though. Couldn’t help draping an arm over Rhett’s chest and burying his face in the back of his neck.

    “You’re on thin ice, man,” Rhett mumbled, words slurring from exhaustion, but he made no move to push Link away.

    And when Link opened his eyes the next morning, his face half-buried in the pillow, Rhett was still there.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have officially jumped the shark, folks
> 
> enjoy

Link had to admit that the way Rhett did it was brilliant. He spliced bits of TV ads for rehabilitation with the shaky footage from Link’s hidden camera, contrasting the High Command’s propaganda with reality. A warm female voice-over described the many amenities available to patients while Rhett’s edit cut to the clip of the bald man slapping his patient across the face.

Rhett proudly displayed his work for Link and the others after another sleepless night spent in front of his laptop.

“It’s good,” Ellie said. “Gets the point across.”

Within a day, the video had been uploaded to several websites and was just as quickly taken down. But after that, it began popping up here and there, having been downloaded by many of its viewers. Rhett noted proudly that the news was refusing to report the video.

“Still scared,” he said. “That means we’re on the right track.”

As the weather grew warmer, the video led to protests and small acts of rebellion carried out through the country: monuments of High Command figures mysteriously defaced, posters and flags suddenly going missing, homes of government officials being vandalized. A few of these were dismissed in the news as pranks by teenagers. The rest were kept quiet.

Resistance meetings were now held almost every night. Link found himself shoved into the spotlight alongside Rhett, thanks to the part he’d played in getting the video footage. Their work was the catalyst for the resistance’s renewed energy, and everyone was eager to hear what they had planned next.

Link found himself enjoying the attention, but he liked listening to Rhett even more. Rhett could captivate a crowded room with his words, his eyes shining as he spoke. He had plans for more elaborate spy work, countless ideas for tearing the High Command apart from the inside. His ideas made Link’s heart rate jump a little, but he soon grew accustomed to quelling his own doubts. Rhett’s instincts were rarely wrong when it came to sabotaging the High Command.

Sometimes, when the night was late and the room they’d gathered in had grown a little too warm, Link would drift a little, carried on the current of those words.

A few times, Link caught Ben watching him from across the room. Aside from the occasional greeting, Ben hadn’t spoken to him since the night they’d met. But every time he locked eyes with Link, he’d grin a little and look away.

 

* * *

 

Link frequently worked undercover now, learning of a whole separate side of the resistance. There were spies  _ everywhere _ , some of whom were in such high profile positions that their identities were kept secret even from him.

Working undercover meant that he spent most of his time in disguise. Sometimes he was a wheelchair-bound old man, stationed in the park to count the number of Bureau of Safety agents on patrol. Other times, he posed as an out-of-town visitor, eager to learn about the workings of the High Command in the capital city. He liked those times the best. There was something thrilling about slipping into a role, about the challenge of convincing everyone around him that he was someone  _ else _ .

Usually, however, Link delivered messages. Much of the resistance’s information was too sensitive to be written or emailed. He memorized the names of government officials expected to attend an upcoming festival and casually relayed the message to those who might be interested in spray-painting the officials’ empty houses. He overheard snatches of conversation between Bureau of Safety agents while posing as a candidate for an office job, and shared what he’d heard with Rhett. Sometimes he was simply a message courier, carrying plans between Rhett and others in the city.

He never forgot how risky it was. Bureau of Safety agents still made him shiver, but he’d gotten better at masking his fear.

And at night, he was always rewarded for his work.

Rhett treated him sweetly when they were alone. There was a softness beneath his rigid demeanor that was reserved for Link alone. Link loved him the most in these moments. He got to hear Rhett gasp when his hair was pulled. He got to pin Rhett’s arms above his head and kiss him senseless. He got to feel Rhett’s hips snap against him, got to dig his fingers into Rhett’s shoulders and wrap his legs around his waist. No one else.

 

* * *

 

But no matter how hard he worked, there was always more to do. There were always more stressful situations to endure. It got exhausting, but it always seemed worth it when Rhett was kissing him in the dark.

Then one day, in the course of delivering messages, he met Ben.

He was at the mall that day, waiting to get information on a weapons shipment from someone undercover. Towering 3D displays reminded shoppers that the High Command wanted them to be VIGILANT and HAPPY. Bureau of Safety agents were scattered through the crowds, but none of them paid Link any mind. He was disguised as a janitor today with a uniform, mop, and a bucket courtesy of the head of mall maintenance, who was a resistance member. Nobody gave him a second glance.

Except for Ben.

He was sitting alone in a corner of the food court, sipping coffee. When he saw Link, he very deliberately knocked his cup over.

Link dutifully trundled over with mop and bucket to clean up the spill.

“My apologies!” Ben said loudly, snatching up his phone and the empty cup with a flourish. “I was just about to go find some napkins.”

“No problem, sir,” Link said with his well-practiced smile. “I’ll take care of this, no need to worry.” It was like reciting lines in a play, he thought as he wrung out his mop.

Ben lowered his voice, but kept his gaze fixed on his phone. “What are you doing here, Link?”

“Waiting on a message for Rhett.”

“Rhett’s little helper.” Ben grinned. “You’ve become one of those.”

Link paused in his mopping. “What?”

“You think you’re the first one?” Ben’s eyes flicked up to meet his briefly, then away again. “He does this, you know. Drags someone in and makes ‘em feel important. Only for a while, though.”

“What are you talking about?” Link muttered.

Ben frowned, eyes searching Link’s face.

“Are you sleeping together?”

Link nearly choked on air. He remembered suddenly that he was supposed to be working, but his hands shook so badly that he nearly dropped the mop.

“None of your business,” he managed. His voice sounded almost petulant.

Ben grabbed a handful of napkins, which he used to dab at the coffee on the table.

“He does that sometimes,” Ben said, voice lowered.

“How would  _ you _ know?”

Ben grinned. “We were together at one point. Back when he wanted me to join the resistance.” He glanced around, his voice going quieter still. “Has he ever fucked you with the lights on?”

 

* * *

 

The lights were  _ always  _ off. Rhett never so much as removed his shirt with the lights on. He manhandled Link in the dark, the grip of his callused hands sparking new thrills in Link’s veins.

Link considered telling Rhett about his conversation with Ben, but fear of jeopardizing their relationship kept him from speaking up. He was quickly realizing that he didn’t just want Rhett’s attention.

He  _ needed _ it.

The days became a blur of emotions, both incredible and unpleasant. Link could keep going for days with the memory of Rhett’s body pressed against his. At the same time, he began to hate his own dependency on Rhett. No matter what happened, Link only had to see that half-lidded  _ look _ and he was ready for whatever Rhett wanted.

And he was starting to hate it.

They were making out in Rhett’s room on the night everything fell apart. Rhett had Link in his lap, mouthing gently at Link’s bare chest in a way that would’ve had him writhing and moaning any other night.

“You’re doing so well,” Rhett murmured. “I’m proud of you.”

_ Proud.  _ There was a patronizing edge to the word that cut through Link’s arousal. He faltered, but Rhett went on murmuring softly.

“You want to turn the lights out for us, baby?”

And suddenly, Link was angry.

“I don’t want to do this tonight.”

“Why not?” Confusion was mingled with the haziness in Rhett’s eyes.

It felt wrong to have this conversation with another man while sitting in that man’s lap. Link dismounted, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“I’m not in the mood.”

He almost couldn’t believe when Rhett actually  _ smirked.  _ “Do you want to see if I can get you in the—”

“ _ No _ , Rhett.” Link got up from the bed and began pacing the length of the small room. His heart was thudding hard in his chest, but he couldn’t go back. He had to say something  _ now.  _ “I-I need you to tell me something. Where are we going with this?”

Rhett cocked his head to one side. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“This!” Link flung out a hand to encompass the sparsely furnished room, the rickety chair, the lamp on the nightstand, the bed that was too short for Rhett’s legs. “You and me. Together.”

Rhett shrugged. “We’re fucking.”

“But I don’t... I don’t...” Link stopped pacing. “I don’t want it to just be that.”

“Why not?” Rhett rose from the bed. A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “I thought this was working out well for both of us. You’re helping the resistance make a difference. You’re helping  _ me. _ ”

He advanced on Link as he spoke, backing him into the corner by the door. The glittering of his eyes stirred something deep in Link’s chest.

“I-I want there to be more than that.” He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted this until he said it aloud. “I want to be the one to kiss you and touch you and make you feel good. I...” He took a deep breath. “I think I might be in love with you.”

Rhett’s face went still, lips forming a thin line. He shook his head. “You’re not.”

Link’s jaw tightened, a mixture of shame and anger now battling in his chest.

“Then what are we doing here, Rhett?” He couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into his voice.

Rhett took his chin in one hand. He could be so gentle sometimes, cradling Link as if he was made of glass. Now, however, he wrenched Link’s face upward and nearly smothered him with a deep kiss.

“I don’t fall in love,” he murmured. His free hand found its way to the waistband of Link’s jeans, where he traced a line beneath the navel, back and forth, until Link was almost shaking. Rhett smiled at him then, as if at a secret joke. “I don’t fall in love and neither should you.”

“I-is that what you told Ben,” he whispered. “Before you fucked him?”

Rhett’s face went still, lips forming a thin line.

“Is that what you always do?” Link went on. “Do you sleep with people to get things from them? Do you—”

He barely registered the sight of Rhett’s fist before the side of his face exploded in pain. He staggered against the wall, one hand coming up to touch his stinging cheek. Through the shock and pain, he tasted blood.

“Why are you acting like this?” Rhett hissed, voice thick with fury _. _

Link felt an answering surge of anger. He lunged, but Rhett was ready for him. They fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs, rolling over and over as they fought. Link’s fist connected with Rhett’s nose. He raised his hand to strike again, but the sight of blood stopped him cold.

_ What the hell am I doing? _

Rhett grinned up at him, oblivious to the blood oozing from his nose. He bucked his hips upward.

“Are we doing this or not?”

Everything was a mess of blood and pain, but Link was struck with the realization that Rhett  _ didn’t care _ . All that mattered was that he got what he wanted.

Ellie had been right.

The next few minutes felt surreal, as if he was watching another man in another room giving a handjob to someone else with a bloody nose. It was all wrong, but he couldn’t stop. They were both hot and hard, both desperate for whatever friction they could find.

Rhett came first, his eyes shut, fingers digging into Link’s thigh. The feel of his body convulsing was enough to push Link over the edge. A small part of him took savage pleasure in ruining Rhett’s shirt.

Afterwards, he barely stopped to catch his breath. Under Rhett’s triumphant gaze, he staggered to his feet.

“What, you’re not gonna stay?” Rhett’s breathless voice sounded almost teasing.

It was revolting to look at him: his face bloody, legs still spread, shirt ruined, pants unzipped, cock softening against his belly.

Link left him there. He stopped in his own room just long enough to grab a shirt and his shoes before he stumbled out of the house. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he had to leave.

Rhett’s low chuckle followed him the entire way.

 

* * *

 

As he wandered the city streets, it occurred to Link that he had made a huge mistake.

Night activity was heavily regulated by the Bureau of Safety, so he kept to smaller streets, pausing in the shadows when anyone walked by.

His cheek felt as if it had swelled to the size of a boulder. The throbbing had spread to the back of his skull, where it quickly got worse. It hurt so much that he finally stopped in an alleyway to close his eyes for a moment.

He’d made a huge fucking mistake.

For the past several months, he thought he’d fallen in love, and for what? For his feelings to be disregarded, for his dignity to be shattered. He hated Rhett now. It was so clear; he had never been in love. He’d been infatuated with his own version of Rhett.

By the next morning, he’d grabbed a spot on a bench at a busy subway station. He was too tired to care who saw him now. His attention drifted to the crowds of commuters bustling around him, all dressed in suits and carrying identical briefcases. It was strange to think that just a year ago, he had been one of them.

“Hello, Mr. Neal.”

He looked up.

Evette smiled down at him.

She wore her black suit and blue latex gloves. Her smile widened more than it should have when he met her gaze. At the back of his mind, something told him to  _ run  _ but he simply stared.

“It’s you,” he said weakly.

Of  _ course  _ he’d run into a Bureau of Safety agent now, when he was bruised and exhausted and long past caring. And of  _ course _ it had to be Evette.

“You’ve caused us an abundance of trouble,” she said beneath the sound of bustling commuters around them. When he didn’t reply, she went on. “But never fear, I’m not here to arrest you. I merely want to ask you a question.”

Link wondered if he’d gone delirious with pain. “A question?”

“How would you like to have all of your crimes forgiven, Mr. Neal?” she asked.

The words didn’t register at first. He blinked at her. Then the laughter started, overcoming him so suddenly that he fell into a coughing fit. The throbbing in his head worsened.

She waited, her face impassive as he wiped tears from his eyes.

“You’re here to arrest me,” he said when he could breathe again. He shook his head and began chuckling again. “I should’ve figured.”

“Not at all, Mr. Neal. I’m here to offer you a deal.”

He stopped laughing.

Evette’s eyes narrowed. “What happened to your face?”

“Got in a fight,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Link opened his mouth to speak, but the roar of a rapidly approaching train drowned out his words. They waited as the subway train roared in, deposited and acquired a crowd of passengers, and roared away again.

“Mr. Neal, I would like to remind you of your civic duty to report rebels and troublemakers. The High Command has protected us from anarchy for many years. All they ask is that they trust in your unwavering loyalty. You have violated that trust by associating with a number of rebels that have escaped our grasp. But, if you help us capture them, you will be handsomely rewarded.”

Link looked down at his hands.

“You could be a national hero, Mr. Neal,” she said.

 

**LOCAL MAN EXPOSES PLOT TO OVERTHROW BELOVED HIGH COMMAND**

 

He could picture the headline already. Citizens who reported on traitors were always held in high regard. It would be nice to be recognized for his efforts publicly, instead of in some crowded resistance meeting that stank of fear.

But more than that, Link wanted to go back to his old apartment. He wanted to go back to his familiar routines. He was tired of working undercover, tired of worrying that he’d be caught. He wanted to be part of something that he understood, even if it frightened him.

And after all, wasn’t this why he’d begun helping Rhett in the first place?

“What do you want me to do?” he whispered.

He suppressed a shudder as Evette smiled again. She leaned in, one gloved hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “You’re going to make your country proud.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your lovely comments. we’re almost done.

Link went to see Ben.

He had nowhere else to go. The only reason he had Ben’s address was thanks to a chance conversation they’d had one night after a resistance meeting.

“In case you ever need a friend,” Ben had said, with a pointed glance at Rhett.

Now, Link pressed the buzzer for Ben’s apartment and waited, digging the nail of his thumb into the pad of his middle finger. His head was still aching.

There was a crackle on the intercom.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s Link,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Link,” he said more loudly, and glanced around the cramped entryway nervously. “Is it okay if I—”

There was the click of the door unlocking. Link hesitated for a moment before darting inside.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust. It was cold in here, the only light coming from a weakly flickering light overhead. The elevator door was striped with caution tape, so Link took the stairs to the second floor. He shuffled down a hallway with carpet so worn down the middle that it was practically threadbare.

Ben opened his door on the first knock.

“What are—” He stopped, eyes flicking to Link’s swollen cheek. “Oh.”

Relief at the sight of a familiar face left Link weak. He put out a hand to steady himself on the doorpost. “Can I, uh... look, I’m sorry to show up like this, but is it okay if I take a quick shower?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ben stepped aside from the door. “Come in.”

Link thought he could almost see the effort Ben was exerting to hold back his questions. He was grateful for it, accepting the towel and clean clothes shoved into his arms without a second thought.

“Take your time,” Ben said as he firmly pushed Link into the bathroom.

Once he was alone, Link turned the water as hot as it would go. He was in a sudden hurry to shed his sweaty clothes, to wash away the gross feeling that had clung to him all night. He stood under the showerhead until it ran cold, washing away all the grime and blood and uncertainty of the previous night. He shed some tears, too, more out of anger than sadness.

How had he missed it? He’d never been anyone special to Rhett. When they’d first met, Rhett had even said that he’d approached several people about joining the resistance before Link. But Link had been the only one naïve enough to fall under Rhett’s spell.

As the last of the water ran down the drain, he was left with a new sense of resolve.

Evette had told him that Rhett was dangerous. This had to be done, even if it scared him.

He was poised to be a traitor to traitors. The absurdity of the situation almost made him laugh as he toweled himself dry and put on Ben’s clothes.

Ben’s apartment was cluttered in the manner of someone who hadn’t cleaned in a long time. Link wrinkled his nose as he passed the stacks of dishes in the kitchen sink. The place felt gloomy, despite the sun streaming through the curtains.

Ben was in the living room, sitting in the one spot on the couch that wasn’t piled with laundry. When he saw Link, he nodded towards the chair across from him, which was buried beneath a mound of books.

“Just put that stuff on the floor,” he said. “And tell me what happened.”

“It was Rhett,” was all Link could say. He pushed at the pile of books and let them cascade to the floor before sinking into the chair.

Ben leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He got the story out of Link in bits and pieces. At one point, he went to the kitchen and brought back a half-empty box of granola bars and an unopened bottle of water.

“That’s all I got,” he said apologetically. “Don’t get paid until next week.”

Link thanked him, ate and drank a little, and kept talking. He didn’t mention Evette. Ben’s sympathy probably wouldn’t extend  _ that _ far.

By the time he’d finished, he felt drained, but in a good way. He hadn’t told Ellie or Morgan what had been going on between him and Rhett, not wanting to deal with their disapproval. Ben seemed far more sympathetic.

“Would you like to stay here?” he asked. “Until things calm down.”

Link almost said no. Then he remembered that cold night, the irritation on Rhett’s face as he’d said, “Not  _ him, _ Ben.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’d appreciate that.”

 

* * *

 

Link ended up staying with Ben for a week. In that time, he cleared out most of the boxes and scrubbed down the kitchen twice. He felt better once he’d spent some time cleaning. It was simple, straightforward work that allowed him to think undisturbed.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ben told him one evening.

Link was on his hands and knees, paused in the middle of wiping down the newly cleaned bathtub. He sat back on his heels and lifted a hand to brush hair from his forehead, only stopping at the last moment when he remembered that he was wearing rubber gloves.

“I know, man,” he said with a forced smile. “Just thought I should help.”

Ben leaned against the bathroom doorway, his hands in his pockets. There was an odd expression on his face, that same little smile that showed when he’d caught Link’s gaze during resistance meetings.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Link found him in the kitchen later, pouring rice into a pot on the stove. They talked for a while, and Link told a joke, something foolish that made Ben laugh. He’d never seen Ben laugh so heartily before.

It made him shiver a little, made him consider something new.

As the smile faded from Ben’s face, Link moved closer, nudging him against the counter beside the stove. A flicker of surprise passed over Ben’s face, quickly followed by a smile. When Ben’s hand came up to touch Link’s arm, he leaned in.

Ben’s kiss was gentle. Nothing insistent about it, nothing like Rhett’s bruising force. The feel of Ben’s hand tracing the line of his jaw was more delicate than he could have hoped.

The mood was shattered when Ben’s phone chimed.

Link stumbled back, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. Ben’s eyes were on his phone, his face still flushed.

“It’s Rhett.”

Anger flared in Link’s chest. “What does he want?”

“Wants to know if I’ve seen you.” Ben’s eyes flicked upward. “Should I tell him you’re with me?”

“No.” He couldn’t deal with Rhett. Not now.

And as soon as Ben set his phone aside, Link lunged forward to capture Ben’s mouth with his own again.

 

* * *

 

The first words from Rhett as soon as Link walked in the door of Morgan’s house were “I’m sorry.”

Link paused, his hand still on the doorknob. 

He’d stayed with Ben for two more days and they’d messed around for most of that time. It had felt good to lose himself in someone just for fun. Ben had said he’d felt the same, but he understood if Link didn’t want to stay.

He still looked hurt when Link said he was leaving.

“I’m sorry, Link,” Rhett said again. His eyes flicked over Link’s borrowed clothes and his lips tightened. “Where did you get those?”

It felt good to see him off-balance like this. He had been so cocky before, when Link had punched him. For a moment, Link wondered how it might feel to hit him again.

Instead, he said, “I stayed with Ben.”

Rhett’s head snapped up, his mouth tightening. “Why? Did you—”

“Did we what?” Link edged closer to Rhett, his fists clenched. “Did we  _ what _ ?”

It gave him a thrill of satisfaction to see Rhett visibly back down.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

As Link went to walk past him, Rhett caught his arm.

“Listen,” he said softly, their faces mere inches apart. “What I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have hurt you. But sometimes you... you do things to me, and I—”

“No, Rhett.” Link’s heart was pounding but he stayed firm. “Don’t talk to me about what I did to you. Take a moment to think about what you did to  _ me. _ ”

He shook Rhett off and left him standing there, his face slack with surprise.

But long after Link was safely in his own room, Rhett’s voice still echoed through his head.


	10. Chapter 10

The night of the betrayal was still and clear.

Link stood in the shadow of a warehouse, his handgun at the ready. The ski mask he wore was tight and itchy; he twitched his nose a few times before finally giving up. In a few minutes, it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Evette’s agents were somewhere nearby, hidden and ready for his signal. He’d told them the resistance’s plan just a few days before, and she had lavished him with promises of money, recommendations of his character from the Bureau of Safety, and a new, larger apartment.

Rhett and the others were here, too, dark forms scattered in the shadows around the warehouse. All wearing the same black clothes and ski mask as Link. As far as they knew, this was a heist. They planned to break into the warehouse and steal as much ammunition as their truck could carry. So far, things had progressed without a hitch. The guards for this shift had been bribed or replaced by members of the resistance. Now, they waited for Ben to crack the keypad lock on the door.

At one point, Rhett turned his head in Link’s direction. Something about the deliberate movement sent a twinge through Link’s chest. Rhett’s face was hidden beneath a ski mask, but Link could picture the anger in his eyes. He stared back. After a moment, Rhett turned away.

They hadn’t spoken since their last encounter, aside from quick exchanges about tonight’s work. Link said as little as he could manage. Part of him desperately wanted to give Rhett another chance to explain, but he couldn’t bring himself to say this out loud.

He was tired. Right now, he just wanted to return to something familiar. Yes, the Bureau of Safety made him uncomfortable, but he’d finally decided that he preferred their unnerving mannerisms to Rhett’s callous nature. At least the agents never picked fights with him.

And Evette had promised that no one would be hurt tonight.

All he had to do was press the button on the wristband she had given him, a wireless transmitter that would bring the Bureau of Safety down on the warehouse immediately.

That was all he had to do.

Once inside the warehouse, Rhett quickly got everyone to work loading crates of ammo. Link stood near the wall, his finger over the button on his wristband.

He just had to  _ press it _ .

“Link.”

He nearly leapt from his skin.

Rhett was there, head tilted to one side. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” Link stepped away, clasping his hands behind his back. “I’m great.”

A hand on his shoulder stopped him from escaping the conversation. Link found himself being pushed against the wall, where he stared up at Rhett with heart thudding madly and eyes unexpectedly watering. They hadn’t been this close in weeks.

“After this,” Rhett whispered, his eyes glittering behind his mask. “Can we talk? Can we... figure this out?”

And Link doesn’t know what to say except, “Yeah.”

Rhett made to pull away but Link gripped his wrist. He pulled up his own ski mask.

“Wait, wait, something I gotta tell you,” he whispered, words running together.

And when Rhett tipped his head to one side, Link lifted Rhett’s ski mask and lunged in to kiss him. He felt Rhett’s surprise in the stiffness of his body, but he kept on. Allowed himself one last exploration of his soft lips and beard and scars and hair...

As soon as he felt Rhett’s body melt into his, he pressed the button.

Within seconds, there were running footsteps, shouts, a few gunshots. Rhett tried to break away, but Link refused to let him go until he heard Evette’s voice.

“Mr. McLaughlin,” she said, in a ringing voice that filled the warehouse. “Please step away from Mr. Neal and put your hands behind your head.”

Rhett slowly obeyed. His face was very still, cheeks still flushed from being kissed.

They were surrounded by Bureau of Safety agents. All with guns raised in blue-gloved hands. Link trained his own weapon on Rhett.

“What are you doing, Link?” Rhett asked softly.

Link’s eyes stung. “I’m...I’m sorry,” he said, voice shaking.

Rhett shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him.

“You asked me if I wanted to know the truth,” Link went on. “And I’ve learned it. You’re dangerous.”

Rhett was smiling at him now, his eyes hard as flint. It struck Link that something was wrong. Rhett wasn’t being put in handcuffs. The agents surrounding them just... _ stood there _ .

“Oh, Link.” Rhett let his hands fall to his sides. “Is that what you told Evette?”

Link was left at a loss for words. The gun in his outstretched hands wavered a little.

“I really thought you knew better, Link.” Rhett took a limping step towards him, then another. The circle of agents around them seemed to tighten.

Link could hardly breathe. A cold realization began twisting its way into his head, just as the colder metal of a gun was pressed against the side of his temple. Someone was telling him to drop his weapon and put his hands behind his head. He couldn’t move.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Evette’s voice cut through his growing terror.

“Mr. Neal, please put the gun on the ground and place your hands behind your head.”

He did as he was told. When he locked eyes with Rhett, he caught a flicker of mirth there.

“I must admit, I’m a little surprised at you,” Rhett said. His mouth twisted in an amused sort of way, but his eyes, his  _ eyes _ , were terrible and cold.

“I  _ told  _ you he’d do it,” Evette said from somewhere behind him. It sounded as if she was smiling.

Link heard footsteps behind him, and the light clink of metal. He lunged forward to get away, but several hands yanked him back down. His arms were twisted behind his back, handcuffs secured around his wrists.

“Rhett?”

His own voice sounded alien to him, thin and shaking.

“I didn’t think you’d go through with it,” Rhett said. He seemed to grow as he spoke, filling the room until Link could focus on nothing else. He stared up at Rhett, standing just inches from him now

“Why?” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Rhett,  _ why _ ?”

Rhett tilted Link’s chin up with a scarred hand and examined his face, frowning at whatever he saw there. Then softly, he said, “I just wanted to see what you would do.”

“But you—”

“I’ve been working towards taking down the High Command for years, Link. Do you really think I’d allow one person’s betrayal to take me down?” Rhett’s eyes shifted away from Link, his voice turning brisk. “Take him away.”

“What? You can’t...” Link struggled, but the agents holding him were far stronger. His voice rose with desperation. “Rhett, please!”

But Rhett’s back was turned. He didn’t look back as Link was dragged away.

 

* * *

A year later found Rhett in a wholly new position. Following the toppling of the High Command, he and a select group of his colleagues had been hard at work restructuring the government of their country.

Rhett lived and worked in the government complex of the capital now. After the years spent hiding from the people who had once populated this place, it seemed fitting to be here. The work was immensely satisfying to him. He no longer had to disguise himself or sneak around to late night meetings. Every decision that he and his colleagues made had a far-reaching impact. There was plenty of hard work ahead, but he was proud of the progress they’d made.

There had been setbacks, of course. Bloody takeovers, and prolonged standoffs with the Bureau of Safety agents still loyal to the High Command. Rhett had seen his fair share of death and torture by now. He was glad that most of it seemed to have settled down.

He’d undergone personal changes as well. Ben and Morgan no longer worked as closely with him. And Ellie, despite never leaving through all the hardships they’d endured, had recently moved to a different city to help with rebuilding. Things had never been the same between them since that night in the munitions warehouse.

He thought about that night a lot.

 

* * *

 

Once a month, Rhett took the brief trip to the Hammerstead rehabilitation center.

It had been completely transformed from the time he’d spent here, all those years ago. Gone were the rooms specifically designed for interrogation and torture. The posters declaring that patients would soon be overjoyed to “SERVE THE HIGH COMMAND” had been one of the first things to be trashed. Now, the place served as a detention center for the most dangerous of the resistance’s enemies.

Coming back here always left Rhett feeling off-kilter, as if he was returning to a part of himself that had been stuck here all the while. But there was a part of him that felt that this was the right thing to do.

Today, he was directed to a private room and told to wait.

It was a bare room, with nothing but a solid table and a pair of chairs in the middle, and a panel of one-way glass along one wall. Ordinarily, he would have gone to the visitors’ room, where rows of chairs sat on either side of thick panels of glass. But this monthly visit was a special one. He didn’t want to be interrupted.

He flinched a little when the door opened. A man wearing a pale blue jumpsuit was ushered in, his hands cuffed in front of him. The guards sat him in the chair across from Rhett and fastened the cuffs to the table.

“Fifteen minutes,” one of them said. Rhett nodded.

The guards left them alone.

The man wouldn’t look at him.

Rhett leaned forward, hands folded. “How are you doing?”

Link laughed at him then, a tired, rasping sound.

“What do you think?” he said, and cleared his throat. “Same as the last time you came.” He was thinner than Rhett remembered, and the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than ever. “Why do you keep coming here, Rhett?”

“Wanted to see you.”

“Why?” Link pulled at the handcuffs once, sharply enough for the metal to accent his words. “You put me here.”

“You  _ betrayed  _ me.” Rhett’s voice shook a little. “And I’m sorry, but I didn’t want you to be here. Evette and some of the others wanted you killed. But I convinced them that you weren’t worth it.”

Link sniffed. “I’m flattered.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“I’m working to get you out of here,” Rhett offered.

Link said nothing. His gaze had fallen to his hands. He pulled on the cuffs again.

“You made some mistakes, Link,” Rhett continued. He was speaking too quickly, almost desperate, but he couldn’t stop now. “So did I. One of these days, I hope that we can sit down and talk. And that maybe, you might be able to forgive me.”

Again, he waited. Again, Link said nothing.

Rhett sighed. “I’ll see you later, Link.”

He pushed himself up from the chair and limped towards the door.

If he had lingered, he might have noticed Link clenching his fists. Or how far the tendons of his neck stood out, as taut as if they might snap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it be like that sometimes.
> 
> thank you for reading. come yell at me on [tumblr.](http://lunar-winterlude.tumblr.com)


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